


Someday I'll Find You

by Fantine_Black, g33kyclassic



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Biphobia, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexuality, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Bullying, Canonical Child Abuse, Chess, Chess Metaphors, Coming Out, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Healthy Relationships, Holding Hands, Judaism, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Money, Pen Pals, Period-Typical Homophobia, Protective Erik Lehnsherr, Rimming, Secret Relationship, Teen Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2020-10-19 18:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 28,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20661824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black, https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kyclassic/pseuds/g33kyclassic
Summary: Charles has spent the entire school year writing to his German pen pal.  Though initially a class assignment, his pen pal has turned into his only friend.  They talk about their lives, their dreams, their studies.  They play chess and exchange book recommendations.  Charles has never felt closer to anyone in his life.  Until one morning at the Xavier estate, Kurt catches him writing a letter to his pen pal and all hell breaks loose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely readers!
> 
> This was originally a little tumblr drabble that turned into an unexpected but absolutely wonderful collab, with the incredible Fantine_Black!
> 
> Since we had a great response on tumblr, we're moving the fic here for better reading and with every intention of continuing the story.

**Chapter One**

_Xavier Estate, Rural England, 1956 _

Charles stands as still as he can, staring straight at his step-father and refusing to give in to the impulse to look away and let his tears fall.

“Thought you could keep this from me, didn’t you? Thought I wouldn’t find out about your little love affair.” Kurt’s voice is dripping with disgust.

“They are letters to my pen pal. Eton set up foreign pen pals for every student. I am not conducting any sort of affair. I have never even met my correspondent in person.” Charles explains, for what must have been the fifth time.

His words have no impact. Kurt continues to throw letters into the fire and rage.

“Writing love letters to another boy. I will not stand by and let this happen under my roof. You have always been a disappointment – to me and your mother. But a to be a fairy boy? A homosexual as well!? I won’t have it.” Kurt tosses the final letter onto the fire and stalks over to Charles, towering over him. “You will never contact this boy again. You will never see him. You will find a nice girl and bring her to all your mother’s social affairs. I never, ever want to see even a hint of deviant behaviour from you while your under my roof.”

Charles literally bit his tongue to keep from snapping back at Kurt that this was not his house at all, it was the Xavier estate and it had belonged to his father and would someday belong to him – not Kurt. Though that was true, it did no good to remind Kurt of the fact. At fifteen Charles had no legal claim to the estate.

“Answer me!” Kurt shouts, as Charles let the silence stretch too long between them.

“I will never contact him again. I will attend mother’s parties. I will not engage in any inappropriate behaviour.” Charles repeats flatly.

Kurt’s nostrils continue to flare and his breathes in angrily. Charles’ agreement did little to cool his rage. It isn’t surprising that a verbal tirade would not quench Kurt’s anger over the letters – his backhand to Charles’ face, which cleanly split his lip a half hour earlier certainly hadn’t cooled his temper either.

Charles remains still and calm, and waits. All he can do is hope that Kurt’s anger will fade. That usually takes days, but Charles knows that patience is the key to surviving this place and Kurt’s hatred.

“Get out of my sight.” Kurt growls. “Go to your room and stay there – I don’t want to see you for the rest of the weekend. And if I do, you’re going to become a lot more familiar with the back of my hand. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Charles turns and walks away. His footsteps echo through the main hallway and up the grand staircase and then fade to almost nothing he was steps onto the thick carpet of his second floor bedroom. He closes his door behind him as quietly as possible. Then he walks over to his bookshelf and takes out his favourite book: ‘The Once and Future King’.

Charles lets the book fall open in his hands, and there nestled within its pages he finds his prize: a small black and white photo. In it stands a tall, gangly boy, with a toothy grin, his arm slung across the shoulders of a smaller woman who is looking up at him with pure love in her eyes.

Charles stares at the picture, the tears he’d been holding in since Kurt discovered him writing at his desk earlier in the afternoon finally, finally falling, burning hot trails down his cheeks. He will never write another letter to his pen pal. The boy he’d been writing to for the entire school year and had continued to write to over the horrid summer break spent at home with Kurt, Cain and his mother. That was until today, the late August morning when he’d been caught out.

Kurt was wrong of course, he wasn’t exchanging love letters. But he was writing a friend. Though worlds apart Charles felt a kinship with his German pen pal he had never felt with his Eton classmates. They’d conducted chess matches via letter and talked of their plans for future studies at prestigious universities. Charles had hesitantly tried out his German writing skills, which were horrible (he was much better at Latin and French) and been completely blown away at how well his pen pal could write in the English. 

His pen pal had been his friend. His only friend. The only person in his life who cared about who he was, what he dreamt of, or who he hoped to become. His hopes, his dreams, his soul, all poured out into each and every letter and returned with equal fervor. There had never been anything deviant about their letters – nothing sexual or inappropriate. Which did not mean, of course, that Charles hadn’t been at least a little bit in love. How could you not fall in love with someone who cared for you when no one else did?

There would be no more letters now. No more shared dreams. No more long distance chess matches. Charles didn’t even have a single letter left to re-read – they had all been burned. All his had was one photograph.

Charles holds the picture tightly to his chest. He might not have the letters, but he did have the memories. He will not forget. He will finish his studies at Eton and graduate early as planned. He will leave this house. He will finally get out from under the controlling eyes and brutal hands of Kurt and Cain.

Charles pulls the photograph from his chest and looks down at it intensely. 

“I will do this, Erik. I will escape this ridiculous life. And one day, somehow, I will find you. I promise, my friend.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles hasn't written, and Erik can't put it out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! As some of my readers may know, I like to sprinkle a lot of German in my Erik chapters, plus some Hebrew/Yiddish if I think he would use it. I hope that most is understandable from the context, but (as ever) I will put a translation in the end notes.  
(Some phrases I think they would use, and make me all happy and fuzzy, sound harsher in English. Jakob would never address Erik as 'boy!', for instance, but the German Junge, which means, well, boy, is much, much softer, so I kept it.)
> 
> So many thanks to g33kyclassic for this lovely story! Because I can't say it enough!

**Chapter 2**

_Düsseldorf, Germany, 1956_

"Erik." Jakob Lehnsherr sighs. "Watches require patience and precision and today you are showing neither."

"'Tschuldigung, Papa." Erik shakes his head. "I'll pay more attention, I promise."

"Are you hoping Magda will stop by?"

Erik can feel himself blushing. "...no, I - "

Jakob smiles. "You'd better start cleaning up out back, Junge. Can't have you messing up an order."

"Yes, Papa." He turns around. "Still no letter?"

Jakob puts down his tools. "No, I've wondered that myself. Have you and Charles had a falling out?"

"No. I think," he adds softly.

Jakob puts his arm around his shoulder. "Maybe he's met a girl, too."

Erik snorts. "I would have known." In fact, he does know about Moira, a girl Charles has met exactly once at one of his mother's 'soirées', and who Erik has since irrationally hated from afar. Luckily, Charles' family doesn't approve because she's Scottish, though Erik doesn't know what that has to do with anything.

Jakob pats his shoulder. "These things happen, Erik. You're both working hard on your studies."

"It's the only thing he does." He looks at his father. "Papa, he doesn't have any friends."

Jakob frowns, and Erik takes heart. "He doesn't seem to talk to anyone. He seems so happy to read my letters, as if he's been holding things in for weeks before he can write again. And it's not fair. He's so kind."

"And you've been a friend to him," Jakob says. "I'm proud of you, Erik."

"But now he's stopped writing," Erik says. "I've written twice without a response."

"Maybe you should stop," Jakob says.

"I don't - what if he's in trouble?"

"Surely, Charles can turn to someone?"

"Papa, no. His family - he doesn't mention them. It's as if they don't exist. As if he never misses them. And, sometimes, there's these weird smudges on the page."

The bell to the shop rings. "We'll talk about it tonight," Jakob says, and Erik busies himself cleaning with a weary shrug. Afterwards, he goes to see Kurt Wagner - the Wagners have just bought a tv.

That night, Jakob does come to him, though.

"Are you afraid people are hurting Charles, Junge?"

He bites his lip, then nods.

Jakob sighs. "I think you should stop writing to him."

Erik jerks. "No, but-"

Jakob pushes him down. "Listen, you hothead. If somebody really is hurting him, they will not want him to have friends. Even pen pals."

Erik blinks. "But then I..."

"You should be careful," Jakob says. "Is there anywhere else you can reach him?"

"At school," Erik muses. "But he's asked me not to, if I can help it. Says people make fun of him." 

He can see his father thinking. "English people write a lot of Christmas cards, though."

Erik looks at him, scandalised. "Papa - "

Jakob laughs. "Consider it a _mitzvah_. Write to him at school, thank him, then tell him how to reach you, if he wants. I have to be in England during Advent, I can post it there, with an English stamp, so no one knows it's you."

Erik's throat hurts. "Papa, danke."

Jakob's looks sad. "You have to leave it there, Junge. You can't write him if it's not safe."

Erik's chest feels heavy. "Yes, Papa."

Jakob hugs him. "You're a good boy, Erik."

It's strange, to wait for Advent more than Chanuka. Erik knows he might never get a reply even so. But the thought of leaving his friend hurts far more.

Besides, he knows where Charles is headed. Oxford. Erik hopes to get a place in Düsseldorf - he can't afford to move out, not at first; he'll need the highest marks to make sure he can attend his first choice of school as it is. But he can travel in summer. If only for a couple of days.

Papa and Mama will let him, if he finds them the money.

"Papa?" he says the next morning, "Do you need some extra help working the shop?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Entschuldigung: pardon me, sorry  
Junge: boy  
Danke: Thank you  
Mitzvah: Good deed/commandment  
Advent: In Germany, advent time is a month long, countrywide preparation for Christmas, with a lot of customs that non-Christian or non-religious people freely take part in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles receives his letter. Will he be able to send one of his own?

** Chapter 3 **

_ Eton, England, December 1956 _

“Xavier.”

Charles startles in his seat in the dining hall. He stares blankly down at his eggs for several seconds, sure that it couldn’t possibly have been his name that was called.

“Xavier!” The voice calls again, sounding none-to-pleased. “Mail.”

Charles can feel his eyes going wide – he never gets mail. Never.

As he walks slowly over to Mr. Harrington, the faculty supervisor of his dormitory, he can feel the entire hall watching him. Everyone knows he doesn’t get mail. Everyone knows he has no friends who write to him and his family couldn’t care less about him. The last time he’d received mail had been when his mother had had to send him a new uniform after a group of older boys had pushed him into a swamp and completely ruined the only set he had that still fit him properly (he’d had a glorious growth spurt in October, though his body had stubbornly remained the same height since).

Mr. Harrington gives him his mail with a look of distaste on his face at being kept waiting.

Charles whispers a sincere “Sorry, sir.” as he hurries away, past the stares of his classmates and onto the grounds of Eton.

The chill of the December air hits him immediately. There is less than a week until Christmas break and Charles is almost certain that what he has clutched in his hands in a Christmas card – which makes absolutely no sense at all. Who would possibly have sent him a Christmas card?

Charles pushes his way into the library, which is eerily quiet at 8 am on a Saturday. He gives Mr. Grayson, the librarian, a tense smile as he rushes past and makes his way to the archive room in the far back corner of the library. Although Charles is aware that no one ever comes into the archive room (he has used it as a hiding spot to escape his tormentors many, many times), he still slips himself under the gargantuan oak desk at the back of the room, folding his body into the tight ball, his knees to his chest.

Only then, small and safe, does he let himself look at the letter. It is postmarked from England and the handwriting on the envelope is unfamiliar. Charles feels his stomach sink – perhaps this is all some horrible mistake. A card meant for some other Charles - he certainly isn’t the only one at Eton.

Deciding he can’t wait a moment longer, Charles rips open the envelope and takes out the contents with a swift tug. It is a Christmas card: it has a tall green Christmas tree decorated with candles on the front. It takes a moment for Charles’ brain to register that the words on the card _‘Fröhliche Weihnachten’ _are in German.

His heart stutters frantically in his chest. Charles takes a moment to lean his head back against the desk, eyes closed, breathing in deeply through his nose, trying to get his hands to stop shaking.

Finally, after one last shaky breath, he opens the card.

_Dear Charles,_

_It has been many long months since I’ve heard from you and I find that I fear the worst, my friend._

_Has someone forced you to stop writing? Or is it even worse than I think, and you have no more use for me and my poor English? Have I finally beaten you one too many times at chess? Has someone hurt you?_

_I don’t care what the answer is, Charles. No, that is not true, I care very much what the answer is. I hope that you are well. I hope that no one has hurt you. I hope that you will be happy to receive this card. I hope that you will write me back – if you can._

_If you cannot write, if someone or something is stopping you...I wish I could be there because I would take you away from them. If your brute of a step-brother has hurt you again, I wish I was there to punch him in the face for you. I wish I was there beside you not here in Germany so very far away where I can do nothing. Nothing but wait and watch for the mail and hope to get a letter from you._

_I know you said not to write you at school. And I promise I won’t write again. I don’t want you to get in trouble._

_If you can, please...please write me back. Anything. Something. One word even, I would take it. To know that you are alright._

_I miss you._

_Erik_

_p.s Merry Christmas my friend _

Charles reads the card again. And again. And again.

He laughs. He cries. He smiles so wide his cheeks hurt.

Erik had written to him. Somehow, someway, Erik had gotten a letter to him. Erik didn’t hate him, as Charles had feared he would. Erik was still his friend.  
If Erik had found a way, then Charles is determined he would as well.

Slipping the card carefully into the breast pocket of his blazer, Charles stands up and heads out the door. He is only a few steps out of the library when a fist connects with his face, and he falls hard on his arse with his head ringing.

“Heard you got mail, Charlie.” Cain’s voice buzzes in his ear. “Father told me you weren’t supposed to get any mail this year without his say so. And guess what, Charlie boy? He didn’t say anything about this letter to me, so hand it over.”

“I haven’t got any letter.” Charles bites out, as Cain holds him up painfully by his hair.

“Don’t lie Charlie, you’re whole dorm is talking about how you got a letter today. You can’t hide it from me. You either give it to me now, or I’m gonna beat you 'til you do.” Cain jerks his head back with a sneer.

Charles reaches into his pocket and passes Cain the envelope.

“Good boy, Charlie.” Cain releases him abruptly, sending Charles sprawling to the ground.

Charles watches as Cain leaves, his group of cronies following behind him. When they are finally out of sight, Charles pushes himself to his feet as quickly as he can. He’s not sure how much time he has until Cain realizes Charles gave him an empty envelope, but it might not be long.

He sprints, tripping over his own feet a few times due to the fuzziness in his head from Cain’s blow, but he makes it to his dorm room in one piece, no Cain in sight.

He locks his door, shoves a chair under the knob, grabs a piece of paper and sits down at his desk. He struggled to keep his hand from shaking as he writes – this has to legible. Erik has to be able to read this – its very likely to be the last letter he sends to Erik, possibly ever.

_Erik,_

_I haven’t time to write what I long to say._

_If I am never able to write to you again, know this – you are the other half of my soul, my kindred spirit._

_I will never forget you._

_I hope someday we find each other again._

_Your friend,_

_Charles Xavier_

Blood, dripping from his nose, drops onto the page and Charles curses – reaching for another piece of paper to start again. Just as he grasps a new page and manages to cover his nose with his handkerchief, his hears the stomping of feet down the corridor.

Within seconds, the pounding on his door begins.

“Charlie! You open this door right now you little shit!” Cain shouts.

Charles grabs his note, blood and all, and stuffs it into an envelope. He wedges his window open and peeks out – no one in sight. With his door rattling and Cain shouting more and more obscenities, Charles sneaks out his window and sprints for the postbox.

Hoping to throw Cain and his cronies off, Charles heads to the Headmaster’s office, which has a postbox, but is not the most direct route for him to take. Panting, Charles tucks himself down beside the postbox, quickly addressing the letter and slipping it into the mail.

He’s done it. He has sent Erik one more letter. He’s almost giddy at his success, grinning as he walks away, making his way toward the infirmary. 

When Cain and his friends catch him, he is still smiling. He can’t quite manage to smile through the beating – the fists to his face, the kicks to his stomach, the spit Cain launches into his hair. But he is at peace. 

Sending that letter to Erik, reading Erik’s card to him: that is worth a lifetime of beatings from Cain.

Thanks to Charles’ strategic route planning, Mrs. Henderson, the nurse, is out of the infirmary and rushing to his aide within minutes.

“Good god, boy.” She says when she kneels down and cradles his head in her hands. “What did you do to deserve this?”

Charles looks at her and finds she appears rather blurry.

“I fell in love.” He says. 

And then the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely co-author will be adding Chapter 4, although she will need a few days as she is currently traveling.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, commenting and leaving kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets his wish - and makes another.

**Chapter 4**

Erik doesn't usually spend Advent in a state of nervous excitement.

It's mostly just busy. Chanuka's come and gone, and his parents are mostly consumed by the pre-Christmas rush of last minute repair requests. Erik does look forward to the school holidays, to curl up with his customary Chanuka gifts of books - one German, one French, one English; he feels a strange stirring in his heart at last year's treasure, 'The Once an Future King'. He's been clutching the book lately, rereading passages, feeling Charles' warm presence through a story shared. He'd been gushing about Zweig's 'The Royal Game' in his letters back to him, urging Charles to get a copy, but Charles' caretakers seemed very reluctant to get him any books that weren't on Eton's required reading list.

It would have to wait.

And wait Erik does, flipping through another Chanuka gift, his new Baedeker, every chance he gets: reading about the place Charles, and he now, too, has set his heart on - Oxford.

"Study hard, Junge," Papa had said, as Erik opened the package Mama had so carefully wrapped, "and we'll pay for your visit." Erik stuttered, but Mama shook her head. "Focus on your studies, Schatz. We'll find the money somewhere."

But of course he's been helping out through the mad Christmas rush, if only to keep his mind from wandering.

He shouldn't expect anything. He knows that. He has no right to put any pressure on Charles, asking him to keep indulging Erik in what is essentially a free English class, and -

No. It's much, much more he cannot name. However much he tried to stay on top of his feelings, he couldn't help but beg in the last message he might ever send to him: _If you can, please... please write me back. Anything. Something. One word even, I'd take it..._

He sighs, and Mama looks up. "Come on, out with you. I can't have you staring at that letterbox one moment longer."

"Sorry, Mama, I - "

"Go see the Christmas Market. We can't spare you this weekend, Schatz, and afterwards it'll be gone."

He nods. "Yes, Mama."

She winks. "Magda might like to come."

He bites his lip. He has been saving his Chanuka _gelt_, and he'd love to buy her one of these gingerbread hearts, if she - if she'll let him...

He walks part of the way to her school, which is just ending - of course it is, he knows exactly where or when he could 'run in' to her, if he could find the courage. And she's been to the shop four times in one week, so maybe...

And there she is, alone, thank G-d, and she's just on her way there, actually, and they're going, he and Magda, they're going, together, to the Weihnachtsmarkt...

They're nearing Erik's own house when he sees him. A postman, special delivery, walking up to their door. And of course it could be anything, at this time of year, but Erik is running, nearly slipping on frozen patches of snow, skidding to a halt in front of a bemused Albrecht. "Na, young Erik," he quips.

"Is it from England?" Erik pants, all courtesy forgotten.

"Yes," the man says, "but I should speak to your parents."

"Please, sir, I can give it to them."

Albrecht shakes his head. "They'll have to pay for it first. It hasn't been stamped right."

Erik swallows. "How much?"

"Nearly a Mark, Erik," he says, and Erik thrusts a hand into his pocket. "Here. It's been adressed to me, hasn't it?"

Magda's come closer. "Is everything alright?" Albrecht is frowning too, but he gives Erik a slip to sign. "Frankly irresponsible if you ask me," he says, but finally hands Erik his prize.

It's incredibly thin, and the writing is barely legible. But there's no mistaking it. Charles. Charles wrote _back_.

He looks at Magda, stamping her feet against the cold, and realises that he has barely twenty pfennigs left. "Sorry," he says. "This is very important. This is... really important."

"That's alright," she says, "I can come in, we..."

"Sorry," he says, "I can't. Just - I'm so sorry, Magda."

She lifts her chin. "I'll meet up with Birgit," she says, and Erik nodds vaguely. As she walks off, he runs in, barely taking the time to wipe his shoes. He yanks off his gloves and puts them in his pocket before taking out the envelope again, softly rubbing it between his finger and his thumb.

Maybe it's one of these icily polite thank you notes, telling him Charles won't be writing in future. But he would have taken the time to put a stamp on that, stamps Erik's been collecting, some of them even trading. What if he couldn't, what if he's in trouble, what...?

"Schatz?" Mama says, coming out of the kitchen, hands still speckled in flour for tonight's challah.

Wordlessly, he shows her the letter. Mama smiles, then frowns at the missing stamp, the extra payment slip. "Go on and read it, then," she says after a moment. "I'll be right here if you need me."

He trods to his room with shaking hands, looks at his small chessboard he hasn't touched in months. Charles' move, yet, mate in three. There's no way Charles can save this.

He slides his pen knife through the envelope.

_Erik,_

_I haven't time to write what I long to say..._

'Never write to you again', words he cannot comprehend, words his soul will not accept. Instead, his brain scrambles for facts: the paper's crumpled, badly folded, the words scribbled in a rush. Right next to the ink, a large, brownish stain, and Erik knows he's seen something like this before in Charles' letters: many times, though much fainter, scrubbed and scraped away. He takes out the binder he keeps Charles's letters in, scans the pages, and here they are, page after page of dirty brown smudges. All the times Charles wrote to him of biology and maths, music and French, football and travel and future dreams, he has been bleeding, scrubbing the evidence away so as not to disturb his friend. Many more pages have now been obviously redone, still as heartfelt but much more carefully composed than later passages where Charles has obviously lost himself in writing. Months of beatings, then, and hurts, and Erik didn't know...

He grabs a pillow and screams, screams out his rage, anger enough to burn down that G-dforsaken place where they keep him. He punches his pillow and wishes it to be the face of that horrible stepbrother, he would _end_ him, with a smile, if only to quiet the feeling of terrible guilt in his stomach. Charles _bled_ for him. Erik got him hurt, however much he tried not to, and he hates, hates, _hates_ himself for it.

Mama is upstairs in what's seemingly three seconds, and he sobs out his grief on her shoulder. "But what did he say, mein Schatz," she keeps repeating and Erik realises finally that his mother, of course, reads much better French than English.

"He says that... if he can't write again, he'll... he'll be my friend," he sobs, completely unable to communicate the depth of feeling that Charles has managed to convey, even in a few hastily scribbled lines. "And that he won't forget me. And he hopes we'll find each other again." He wipes his face and looks at his mother. "Why would he say that, Mami, I'm right here, why could he not, who is stopping him, who - "

Edie takes his face between her hands. "That doesn't matter. All that matters is you're in his heart, and he's in yours, and when it's meant to be, it will be."

Erik clenches a fist. "I must help him! They -"

"Erik." And her voice is dead quiet. "Listen to your father. You must not contact him."

"But he - "

"I forbid it. For Charles' sake. Not one more word, Erik Lehnsherr."

He looks at her, then bows his head. "Jawohl, Mami."

"I must get on," she says, with a look at the sky. "Put your trust in him, Erik."

He doesn't know who exactly she means, and maybe that was deliberate. Still Erik cries, bitterly, a teardrop landing next to the stain. He puts it away and keeps stomping his mattress, then stares at the chessboard with unseeing eyes.

_Find me._

He walks over and holds both Kings in his hands.

_Find me, my friend. Find me._

He takes the pieces off, turns the board around, puts them in their slots, puts the board away. Rereads Charles's letter

_I will never forget you._

"I'm sorry, Charles," he whispers.

He puts the letter away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weihnachtsmarkt - Christmas Market  
Baedeker: Travel Guide (Brand name)  
Gelt (Yiddish) - Money. German spelling: Geld  
1 Mark worth $1- $2  
100 Pfennig = 1 Mark  
Na - What's up?  
Challah - Bread, part of the shabbat meal  
Mein Schatz - my treasure/dearest  
Jawohl - Yes ma'am/sir


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven years later. Will our boys finally find each other again?

_New York City, 1963_

Charles’ feet ache. Every step he takes is agony. Apparently he wasn’t cut out for a day of walking all around New York City, trying to find someone who didn’t already have a flatmate – or as they called them here in America, a roommate.

But he has to find a place to stay – and fast.

It’s all he own fault of course. Finding a place to live when the semester was starting in three days was last minute in the extreme. But then his decision to leave England and come to Columbia for his graduate work had also been last minute and mostly unplanned. 

In fact, Charles can hardy explain why he’d left at all. All of a sudden he’d felt the weight of living in Oxford, still so close to the controlling ways of Kurt Marko, still fighting over his inheritance and he’d had the most incredible urge to get as far away as possible. Columbia’s offer for a doctoral position had still be sitting on his desk and he’d impulsively called to see if they’d still have him. They’d said yes, quite happily in fact, and Charles had been boarding a plane to America the next day.

The problem of course, was that he had yet to secure accommodations.

Glancing down at the paper in his hands and then back up to the building in front of him, Charles takes a deep breath. His last stop of the day – his last hope of finding a place to stay.

It’s a long slow climb to the fifth story flat and Charles has to take a moment to catch his breath before he knocks on the door.

A small, dark haired young woman in paint splattered overalls opens the door.

“You Xavier, Charles Xavier?” 

Charles nods quickly. 

“Yes. And you must be Ruth?”

“That’s me. Come on in.” 

Charles walks through the door and into a small, but very open space. There is a tiny kitchen along the far wall and a bright, airy living space with a couch and several canvases propped on easels near the windows. To his right, a narrow hallway leads to what must to be the bedrooms.

Charles sits down on the couch and Ruth straddles a bar stool across from him.

“So, you’re not from around here.”

“No.” Charles affirms. “I just came over from Oxford.”

“Last minute apartment hunting is a pain.” Ruth comments. “Lucky for you, my misfortune is your good luck. I need a roommate to help pay rent - can’t do it alone. You’re the first person who’s responded to my ad and I’m desperate, so if you agree to a few basic ground rules, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

Charles can feel his eyes widening as Ruth speaks – she’s so very forthright and confident. For a woman so small in stature she has a personality that fills up the room.

“Okay, so here it is: I have a room to spare because my boyfriend, my fiancé actually, just up and left me because he’s an asshole of epic proportions. So, rule number one: if a guy with dark hair, average height, with the ugliest scraggly beard you’ve ever seen shows up looking for me – you are not to let him in. I don’t want to see that bastard ever again. Got it?” 

Charles nods immediately. It seems like a more than reasonable request.

“Number two: the good light in the living room – it’s mine. I’m a fine arts student and I work on some of my projects here at home and the living room in the only one with decent light. I know it sucks to have half the living space taken up with my easels, but that’s how it is. Okay?”

“I’m sure my room will be plenty of space for me and I have an office at the university if I need more work space.” Charles explains.

“You have an office? You a grad student?” Ruth gives him a quizzical look.

“Yes. I’m starting my doctoral studies.”

“Geez, you a kid genius or something? You hardly look older than my brother and he just started high school.”

“I’m twenty two.” Charles protests, but Ruth simply shrugs in response.

“Well you don’t look twenty two, but it doesn’t matter. A doctoral student huh? That’s good. You’ll be serious about you studies, which ties into point three: I may be the rebel of my family, but I’m serious about my schooling. There will be no parties in this apartment unless we both agree on it ahead of time and anything I do agree on will be small. Got it?”

Charles nods again. He’s never been much for parties. Even when he got into Oxford and hoped to find more like minded people, he’d stuck out like a sore thumb – he’d been too young, too socially awkward, too earnest. He’d made a few academic minded friends, but he’d never quite figured out what to do at parties besides sit on the sidelines and talk science with his equally awkward friends.

“Excellent. Rule number four: We will never date, so don’t ask. I mean it – do not ask.” Charles watches Ruth and her expression is completely serious.

“I... don’t think that will be an issue.” Charles replies delicately.

“Oh.” Ruth’s eyes widen and her mouth parts, obviously understanding Charles’ unspoken implication. “Oh, well, okay then. That’s umm, that’s fine then.”

Charles flushes but remains silent. He’s always kept his personal life particularly private and even this small implication regarding his sexuality is a huge risk. Ruth, however, seems willing to accept his comment and move on.

“One last thing – my parents, though still more than a bit put out that I left home and moved in with my boyfriend, still love me and interfere with my life whenever they can. So, once a week one of them, will come here and drop off food. It’s usually my mom, but it could be my dad, or my cousin. So if they show up – don’t be surprised that they’re here. And they’ll probably be pissed that I’m living with a man, but, well, I don’t really care.”

“I can explain that we’re not...dating.” Charles offers feeling awkward.

“Yeah, well I’ll tell them that – doesn’t mean they’ll believe it. Living with a man and a gentile at that, they might freak out a bit. Don’t take it personally. My mom’s a tiny little Jewish woman who will act like she doesn’t like you, but will also tell you you’re too skinny and try to feed you. My dad probably won’t come by, he’s an engineer and he’s always working, but sometimes my mom sends my cousin. My cousin just moved here from Europe a few months ago, he’s interning at my dad’s firm. If he comes by, don’t be scared of him alright? He’s all tall and broody – total strong silent type routine. But he’d mostly harmless.”

“Mostly?” Charles can’t help asking.

“Well, I mean, there are some rumours... but those are all about him beating up absolute jerks, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Charles cannot quite bring himself to feel as confident as Ruth no doubt wants him to be that her cousin won’t punch him in the face as soon as he sees him – some random man who is now living with his young female cousin. Luckily, actually quite unfortunately, Charles knows he can take a punch.

Ruth smiles at him broadly.

“So, roommates?” 

She sticks out her hand, inviting Charles to shake. After only a moment’s hesitation, Charles reaches out and grasps her hand firmly with his own.

“Roommates.” He agrees.

* * *

By the next day, Charles has all his meagre possessions unpacked. His room is spartan: a narrow single bed, a sturdy looking wooden chair in the corner by the closet, a small but functional desk.

Charles has kept most of his books at his office on campus (where he’d been sleeping the past few nights under his desk, hiding from the night guards). But he did have a small stack of his favourite novels on his desk, including his battered copy of ‘The Once and Future King’.

Charles skims his fingers along the edges of the book, until he hits a slight imperfection. Charles pauses, slowly pulling out the photograph that had been stuck between the pages of years. It’s starting to fade and its edges are rough from so much handling. Charles is more than slightly embarrassed to admit he used to sleep with it under his pillow during his first year at Oxford. 

He’d started at Oxford at only sixteen and the university had thought it best if he didn’t have an older roommate, so he’d had a single room and he had been so horribly lonely. His fellow students at Oxford hadn’t bullied him like his classmates at Eton, no, they had simply ignored his entire existence. Charles had had more than a few nights where he had fallen asleep, tears running down his cheeks, clutching the photograph to his chest.

He didn’t sleep with the photograph anymore. Not for several years.

His dreams, his hopes, of ever meeting Erik, of seeing him in person, are fading away with each passing year. He simply doesn’t have the means or the courage to seek him out.

What if Erik hardly remembers him? What if he was horrified by how much the letters and their friendship had meant to Charles? 

Not that it really matters. Here, in New York City, what are the odds Charles will ever run into his German pen pal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading our little collaboration - we appreciate every one of you!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is curious about his cousin's new roommate.

"A boy!" aunt Rosa blurts out. "A goy boy!"

Erik hides a smile. "There are a lot of goyim in New York, auntie."

"Doesn't mean she has to live with one," his aunt grumbles. "Skinny slip of a thing. Foreign, too."

Erik blinks. "Hey!"

His aunt laughs. "You're blood, bubeleh. You could be Martian for all we'd care." Then she frowns again. "And now she's spent all shabbos working on an assignment!"

Erik severely doubts that Ruth spent all weekend working on an assignment when there is life in New York to be lived. He's glad she does - if she hadn't moved out, he couldn't have come. In fact, he wishes he had a bit more of her spirit, though he pushes the thought away before it fully forms. He's too aware how lucky he is to still have an extended family to want to be away from them for long. He's glad Ruth and Max haven't grown up with that ever present emptiness, the silence; but Erik can never quite forget why his is the only Jewish family he really knows of. 

"So what's his name?" he asks. "Ruthie's roommate."

"I don't know," aunt Rosa says. "He mumbles."

Erik laughs again. "He must have said something."

She shakes her head. "I've no idea. He hid in his room the whole visit."

"Charles," uncle David calls from behind his paper. "His name's Charles."

"How do you know?" aunt Rosa says, indignant.

"I've spoken to Ruth on the phone, dear."

Erik's breath seems to stick in his chest. "Charles who, uncle?" he says softly.

"I don't know," David hums, re-engrossed in the news. "No one we know, I assure you."

Erik carefully recomposes his face before he excuses himself (there's always work enough where uncle David is concerned), goes to Ruth's room and flops on the bed.

Of course it's not him.

That's not even really the _point,_ he thinks as he reaches for the book at his bedside, absolutely battered and stuffed into his suitcase at the last moment. Yet of course, tucked away under the cover -

Charles' last words.

Erik grimaces at the thought. Charles is not dead, why should he be. Unless that stepbrother of his...? The boy's called Cain, of all things...

Still, assuming Charles is alive, he should have been in the position to write to him. He must have graduated Eton, and started university, quite some time ago. 

_You are the other half of my soul, my kindred spirit_...

Why say these things and disappear, why? 

Erik knows that Ruth laughs at him for never taking anything lightly, but Erik can't take this lightly. It isn't a frivolous thing to say, unless he didn't know Charles at all, and he doesn't believe that.

He hasn't dwelled on it, though. In fact, he's rather violently Not Dwelled On It. But Charles has opened something in his heart he hadn't known before, a depth of feeling he hasn't found with anyone - not with his classmates, not with the other students, not with the girls he dated. Erik has buried the pain of Charles' silence under other activities and friendships years ago, but it's a tender spot never quite healed, and hearing his name now...

Oh, who is he kidding?

Erik turns to his side and pulls up his legs. Of course he misses Charles. He's missed him for years, though never as much as here. He's never been lonely or out of place at home, but now he feels a lot like Charles felt then. He's excited to be in New York, but he's also a stranger still trying to make friends, and even his family don't quite know where he's coming from. Charles, yes, Charles would have understood. 

Yet the bitter, most likely truth is that Charles has moved on from him, and found better, more academically minded friends. Erik is fiercely proud of his choices, but he could never compete with Charles' chances and pedigree. Much as Charles hated it, Eton is a prestigious school, and Oxford a venerated institution - they've always moved in vastly different circles, and that must have won out over their earlier boyish, heartfelt enthousiasm.

And that... hurts.

He's contemplated visiting, but what would he do? Roam the colleges, asking for leads? He's never even seen Charles' picture.

"Erik!" That's aunt Rosa. "Don't forget to swing by Ruth's!"

"Coming!" He's glad for the distraction, and he always likes seeing Ruth. Plus, he's quite curious about this other Charles.

But when he sees him at her door, he's taken aback. This man - boy, more like - is beautiful. He knows you're not supposed to say that about a man, but he is. He's also extremely shy. 

"Sorry," he says, for what must be the third time now. "Ruth's not here, she's -"

"That's OK," he says. "You're Charles, right? I'm Ruth's cousin Erik. My aunt says you've met."

There's a flicker in his eyes of what could be recognition, but it's gone before Erik knows. _Really, Erik,_ he scolds himself, _pull yourself together. _

"Do you want to come in?" Charles says, holding out a hand for the groceries, probably glad it gives him an excuse to look down. 

"Yeah, that'd be better," he says, and he's almost sorry about what he's going to have to do next. But you can never judge anyone by their looks, not completely.

"So," he says, after having closed the door behind him, and handed Charles the bags. "I'll keep this short. Ruth is off limits."

"Of course," Charles says, nodding furiously, but Erik cuts him off. "That's what you would say. I want this to be clear, Charles." He puts a step forward. "You hurt my cousin, or even look at her funny, I'll rip your spleen out through your throat."

Charles blinks. "You could do that?"

Erik frowns. "Don't bullshit me - "

"No." Charles meets his gaze head on. "I mean, good. I'd deserve no better if I did that." Then he frowns again. "But is that even anatomically possible? You'd get stuck..." 

"It's a figure of speech!" Erik says helplessly as Charles jumps up and runs to what Erik assumes is his bedroom.

"I'm interested!" he says as he grabs a book from his desk. "I guess you'd need some implement, at least...?"

Erik's eye drifts to the wall above it, where he sees a sketch of what could be Charles' room, though strangely tilted. "Did Ruth make that?"

Charles looks up and smiles. "Yes, that's one of her assignments on cubism. She didn't think it was good enough, but in the end she let me have it."

"She must trust you, then," Erik says. He looks at it a bit more. "She has a really good eye. She would make a good architect, if she wanted."

"But she doesn't," Charles says softly. "And that makes all the difference."

Erik looks down. "Life doesn't always go the way we want," he says.

"But we should do what we can," Charles says. "However little."

Erik feels more tightness in his chest. It must be something in the name. Then his eye falls on another book.

Same publisher, same year.

He grabs it. "I used to love this..."

Charles makes a sudden movement, as if to snatch the book from him, and Erik pulls it towards him on instinct. "Don't," Charles whispers, but the pages have separated, and Erik sees a frayed, worn picture.

And by G-d, he wouldn't have looked, as it's none of his business, but the face he sees is his mother's, and that doesn't make any sense.

"Where did you get this?" he spits, and doesn't wait for the answer, just takes the book and storms to the front door, where he hears Ruth come in.

"Did you give this to him?" he says, no greeting, pushing the photo in her face, "because that's officially weird, Ruth, however artsy you get - "

"Erik, calm down," doesn't even register, he can't get himself to stop.

"What is he doing with your family photos?" he nearly screams, "I've heard a lot of strange things about New York, but this is downright creepy!"

"Says you," Ruth huffs, "and what are you talking about? I've never seen this thing in my life." She gives it a glance and smirks. "Good thing too, it's hardly your best -"

He cannot breathe. "Then how the hell did he get it?!"

"My best friend sent it to me," Charles says behind him. His voice is calm, but very soft. "At my school, in England."

Erik doesn't dare turn around.

"What?" Ruth says. "How?" But no one answers. Erik can only focus on his hands clenching and unclenching;the world has gone off kilter at his feet. 

Ruth takes a breath. "Erik Michael Lehnsherr," she says, very slowly, "what the hell is going on?"

Erik finally turns to look into the most beautiful blue eyes he's ever seen.

"Charles?" he whispers, "Charles Xavier?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have finally found each other. What happens now?

“Charles! Charles are you okay?” Ruth’s frantic voice sounds strangely fuzzy in Charles' ears. “Charles!”

The world suddenly jerks into focus when Ruth touches his shoulder, hovering over him, her face full of concern.

“Are you alright?” She asks softly, her rich brown eyes staring down at him.

“I’m fine.” Charles replies, rubbing at his chest with a wince.

“Well, that’s clearly a lie.” Ruth scoffs. “Stand up and let me see.” She commands with a wave of her arm.

When Charles is too slow to act, Ruth reaches out and hauls him off the couch into a standing position. Before Charles can so much as react, she’s pulling up his shirt.

“Ruth!” He exclaims trying his best to squirm away. “Stop, I said I was fine.”

“And you’re lying.” Ruth says giving his a pointed look. “He hit you with a book.”

“It was an accident.” Charles whispers.

It had been an accident. Erik hadn’t even been looking at him when he’d tossed the book.

When Erik had said his name, when Charles had nodded to confirm that yes, he was Charles Xavier, the look on Erik’s face had been... furious. His nostrils had flared, his breath had come out in harsh pants. He had taken one good long look at Charles, turned around and walked out the door. Just before he’d slammed it closed behind him he had chucked Charles’ book with full force back into the apartment. Charles, never one for athletic prowess, had been hit right in the chest by the flying object.

Now he could feel Ruth’s small fingers softly touching his ribs, looking for injuries.

“You’re going to have a bruise soon.” Ruth mutters standing up and pacing the room. “What an asshole. What a complete and total asshole!”

“Are you taking about me, or your cousin?” Charles ventures to ask.

“Erik, obviously!” Ruth whirls around to look at him. “He just... I know he has a temper. I know he can be stubborn, but he didn’t even stay to talk! I don’t even... I don’t even know what’s going on here!”

Ruth stops her pacing in front of Charles, hands on hips.

“What is going on here, Charles? How do you know my cousin?”

Charles knows this was coming, he knows Ruth would ask – really how could she not – but he still doesn't know how to answer her.

“I think... I think that’s between myself and Erik.”

“Really Charles! Really?” Ruth protests. “You’re gonna want my help Charles.” Ruth states with her typical confidence. “If you ever want to see Erik again, you’re gonna want my help. And to get that help, you’re gonna need to tell me – who is Erik to you?”

“We... we were pen pals.” Charles explains reluctantly, still unsure how much he should really share, even to Ruth. “Years ago. My school, Eton, set up foreign pen pals for all the boys in my year so we could practice language skills and correspond with someone living in another part of the world. Erik was mine.”

“And? And what happened!? You were pen pals, you drifted apart for some reason and now he hates you?”

“That’s... accurate.” Charles says with a sigh. “Whatever happened, it was my fault Ruth. Mine. And I do want your help. I must, I simply must apologize to Erik – for today, for what happened in the past. I should have apologized years ago. I don’t want to wait any longer. Please Ruth, will you help me find him again?”

“If you screw this up again – that’s on you Xavier.” Ruth announces, her finger pointed at Charles’ chest.

“That’s fair.” Charles agrees immediately.

Because it is fair. This whole mess is his fault. He should have written Erik back as soon as he’d gotten into Oxford, as soon as he’d had a new address with only intermittent supervision from Kurt and Cain. He should have had the fortitude to reach out to Erik again.

But he hadn’t. All he’d had were doubts. He worried about how Erik might feel about the words he’d written. They had been so heart wrenchingly honest. Charles had pulled his soul right out of his body and laid in bare on the page for Erik to see and at that moment when he’d been frantically writing his last letter, that had felt like the right thing to do. It had felt like the only thing to do.

Now, as he had at Oxford, Charles wonders if those words had been the wrong thing to write. Erik couldn’t possibly have returned his sentiments; he had a family and friends in Germany. He wasn’t a lost little boy, surrounded by wealth, but devoid of affection like Charles. Erik didn’t need him the way Charles had needed Erik. He must have been shocked at Charles' words... _‘the other half of my soul’_. How ridiculous he must have seemed. Clearly, Charles had a great deal to apologize for.

“He plays chess in the park.” Ruth speaks up after a moment’s hesitation. “He goes every Wednesday after work. Mama complains because he misses supper, but, I guess he really likes chess.” Ruth shrugs.

“Yes.” Charles nods. “Yes he does. Thank you Ruth.” He replies sincerely.

Charles turns and begins a slow walk down the hall to his room. He’s just about to go through the door when Ruth’s voice calls out.

“He’s been seeing women.” Charles turns to look at Ruth, standing at the other end of the hall, a look of awkward determination on her face. “He... he’s gone on a few dates since he got here. With women. I just... I just thought you should know.”

“We were just friends, Ruth.” Charles says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Just friends.”

Charles steps into his room, and puts his battered copy of ‘The Once and Future King’ back on his desk.

That night, for the first time in years, he falls asleep with the faded picture in his hands.

* * *

October in New York is beautiful in the fall: the crispness of the air, the colour of the leaves, the smell of change.

Charles stands discretely by a tree in Washington Square Park, quietly observing the chess tables and thinks: no matter how beautiful fall may be, it has nothing on Erik Lehnsherr. Erik, sitting with his back so very straight and ridged, the firm lines of his body so evident in his every move.

It’s strange to think this man, this incredibly masculine, handsome man was once the gangly boy in his photograph. How could Charles have possibly imagined that Erik would grow into a man who would have turned Charles’ head and struck him with a bolt of lust if they had passed each other on the street?

Charles had never loved Erik for his looks when he was a boy - he had loved his mind, his dry wit, and his open heart. Charles had loved Erik because Erik had listened and he had cared. And that boy Charles had loved when he was fifteen, he deserved an apology.

Charles pushes himself away from the tree and strides over to Erik’s table with as much confidence as he can muster.

“Fancy a game?” He asks, hands in his pockets, hoping Erik does not reject him… again.

Erik looks at him, his expression guarded. Charles doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but he lets the silence stretch. This is Erik’s choice. If Erik says no, Charles vows he will let it drop. He will turn and leave this park and never bother Erik again. But he hopes, he hopes more than anything that Erik will give him a chance.

“Do you still prefer white?” Erik finally says and Charles feel his heart soar with happiness.

“Yes, yes I do.” Charles sits himself across from Erik.

“You have the first move.”

Charles picks up a pawn and moves it forward. It’s a tentative move, a first step in a much longer game. Erik has let him sit down, they are playing chess, face to face, for the first time.

As the game continues, as Charles finds himself smiling at Erik’s clearly agile mind and his excellent strategy, Charles allows himself to hope. To hope that this game may lead to another, that this game may help repair what Charles had broken.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of chess can say a lot about a person, Erik finds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to the wonderful g33kyclassic for your help and ideas! 💐❤

Erik likes chess. There's something honest about it, open. There's no trickery in it, no hidden agenda. Everybody's motives laid bare for all to see - nothing there but a clean battle of minds, of logic. And yes, some people will always try to bend the rules, play with his head, but Erik has little patience for that. It's all there on the board, anyway, you don't even have to look at your opponent to finish the game.

Better he doesn't.

He needs structure: clean lines, boundaries, order. There's so much brewing inside of him he can barely make sense of, and when it comes out...

He flexes his hands, closes his eyes. G-d, he nearly punched Charles in the face two days ago and he can't look at him, he can't, there's too much to say and he hasn't the words.

"Erik." Charles smiles again. "It's your move."

OK, calm. Pawn E7-E5 and then his next move, pawn D7-D6. Predictable opening, boring, maybe, but safe. Safe. No surprises yet - wait, what the hell is Charles doing with the white Queen? 

Erik is looking at the board, searching for a hidden trap, but it is only the third move, far too early in the game for any of that. And yet here Charles is, storming right out of the gate with his most powerful piece and leaving her there, undefended, completely at the mercy of Erik's lowly bishop.

Is this a trick? Is he trying to give Erik a false sense of security before swooping in with a cunning master plan? Or has he merely moved his Queen one square too far on accident?

Erik looks at the sky. "It's getting dark a lot sooner now," he says to Charles. "Do you have enough light?"

"I'm fine, Erik, thank you." Then he chuckles. "You like to take your time with these things, don't you? It's hard to tell in a letter."

Erik takes his bishop and sweeps Charles' Queen off the board. "Bishop on C8 takes Queen on G4," he says, smirking, although there's no reason to say that out loud now.

"Oooh," Charles says, half suprised, half amused. "Didn't see him there."

"Then look," Erik says, smirking still. "It's allowed, you know."

"I know," Charles says, cheerfully moving his knight to F3.

He puts up a good fight, but can't prevent Erik from picking off his pieces one by one. It's quite a bloodbath; in his place, Erik would have long resigned and asked for a rematch. Charles doesn't, for whatever reason - he takes the beating with a steely look and at one point almost forces a stalemate. 

Erik is impressed. "Again?" he offers, when at long last Charles has tipped over his King in surrender.

Charles grins. "Sure."

Erik wins that one, too, and by the beginning of their third game, he's realised something about Charles that breaks his heart.

Charles is a good player; inventive and tenacious, but he has absolutely no sense of self preservation. He only ever gets into the game when he is in serious trouble; he fights then, harder than Erik would, so well that Erik is tempted to offer him a draw out of respect for his sportsmanship. But give Charles an advantage, or an even playing field, and he can't seem to hold back - he storms the board out of sheer enthusiasm, without a single care for his own wellbeing. Only when he's been well cornered does he truly dig in, pull back, and try to anticipate Erik's moves- desperate to salvage what by then can only be an honourable defeat from the wreckage. 

Erik cannot watch this. "Charles, look," he says, physically grabbing Charles' right hand with his left when Charles is about to sacrifice his rook for no reason at all.

The touch startles them both. Charles looks up at him. "Sorry, Erik, was it your move?"

"No," he says, and is a little at loss for words. "Your knight, Charles, it's right there." He loosens his grip, but Charles doesn't pull back. Erik squeezes his fingers. The tension between them is palpable as rope.

He should let go. Instead, he's stroking Charles' knuckle.

At long last, he steers Charles' hand towards the white knight.

"Here," he says stupidly.

Charles lowers his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

Erik would really appreciate it if he could remember how to breathe. As it it stands, he brings out: "Call it a draw, then. Will you shake on it?"

Charles nods, and Erik offers him his right hand. Charles takes it, and Erik wants to stay like this forever.

But Charles draws up his shoulders; his eyes dart to the other players around them. "It's getting cold," he says. "Will you walk with me?"

Erik nearly flips over the table getting up. _Smooth, Lehnsherr. _"Sure - do you want to go eat something?"

Charles keeps glancing around. "Let's walk, OK?"

"OK," Erik says. "I'll buy you a hotdog."

Charles pulls up his eyebrows. "Do you eat pork?"

"No," Erik says. "But that doesn't mean you can't."

He looks surprised at such a simple offer. "Thank you," he says, and Erik just can't stand all this. Charles acts like he's never been offered anything at all. "This way," Erik says, and they walk until they've left the chess tables well behind.

"I'm sorry," Charles says at last, when they seem to be unobserved, "for not writing. I should have done it earlier. I don't know why I didn't, I mean... It really wasn't possible. Not at first."

Erik shakes his head. "I shouldn't have asked you to. You asked me not to write at school, then I did it, and..." He turns to look his friend in the face. "Charles, what happened?"

Another defensive look. "That was years ago." Then his eyes brighten. "I'm so glad that you wrote. It meant so much to me, I can't even begin to explain how -"

This time Erik sees it happen: the same sudden shift, open hearted wonder turned to desperate defense. "I should go," Charles says. "I have classes, you have to work. It's so good to see you, Erik. Thank you so much for playing with me again."

"How about Saturday night?" Erik says, and he can hear the note of desperation in his own voice. "You're free, then, right?" He grabs Charles' hand at his small nod, cups it with his other. "Meet me for a drink? As a friend?" His stomach clenches at Charles' hesitation. "We are friends, still, aren't we, Charles?"

"Yes," Charles says, after what seems a lifetime of apprehension. "Yes, of course, Erik."

They keep holding hands till Charles softly pulls back. "What time on Saturday?" he says in a small voice.

"I'll pick you up at nine," Erik says. "When I bring groceries."

"OK," Charles says, and then he gives a little wink. "Until then, old friend."

His eyes are like the sea, and Erik wants nothing more than to drown. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik go out for a drink. The night ends on an unexpected note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my collaborator Fantine_Black! This fic is full of angst and quite a fair bit of sadness, but working on it with someone else had made it so fun :)
> 
> Fantine helped me with some German in this chapter. The end notes will have the translations if the context isn't enough to figure it out - thank you Fantine!

Charles stands in the bathroom and stares into the mirror. He looks the same as always; too pale, freckly, bump on his nose from when Cain broke it when he was twelve, collar bone sticking out. An altogether unattractive image.

It doesn’t seem to matter what he does with his hair, or how many times he scrubs his face, he always ends up looking the same.

Charles pulls on his clothes, buttoning his white collared up to the top button and pulling on a navy blue cardigan, with tan slacks. He looks down at himself and wonders if he’ll ever be able to wear something that doesn’t shout “prep-school boy” from the rooftops. Likely not. He’s always been drawn to the familiar and comfortable.

Once Charles is in the living room, he paces. He tries to sit on the couch, he really does, but he can’t. He needs to move.

“It’s no wonder you’re so skinny pacing around like this all the time.” Ruth comments from the corner.

“I thought you were painting?” 

“I am.” Ruth turns around to look at him. “You are a distraction. Sit down at the table and I’ll get us something to snack on. It will keep you occupied for a few minutes at least.”

Charles obeys – its always best to do as Ruth asks. 

“Here.” Ruth sets down a plate of apple slices and buttered rolls. “Eat up.”

Charles takes an apple slice and savours the crunch and burst of flavour in his mouth. He closes his eyes and tries to forget for a moment. Tries to forget everything he is so worried about.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Ruth asks. “Usually you pace around when you’re anxious about school, but you told me earlier you were actually ahead of schedule. So... what’s got you so on edge?”

Charles looks down at his hands. How does he tell Ruth that Erik invited him for drinks and he knows it’s just drinks, but it feels... it feels like a date. Not a date date. But a date, or at least the closest thing Charles is ever likely to have to a date. An evening out with a man. A man like Erik. 

“Erik is coming over soon. He... we agreed to go have a drink.” Charles finally gets out, still looking at his hands.

“Charles...” Ruth reaches out to put her hand on top of his. “That’s good, Charles. You’ll have time to talk a bit more. Become friends again. Isn’t that what you want?”

Charles looks up at Ruth, the only person in New York who knows his secret, and he can see her honest concern, her whole hearted desire for him and Erik to be friends.

“I haven’t... he doesn’t know Ruth. How do I tell him about...” Charles frowns in frustration. “How do I tell him about my deviance?”

“Charles!” Ruth exclaims, squeezing his hand tightly. “You are not a deviant. You...you’re different. That’s all, just a little bit different.” Ruth pauses and takes a breath. “You don’t have to tell him, Charles. I know... I don’t want you to lie, but you don’t have to say anything. He would never know, Charles, never, if you don’t say anything. Just go out and enjoy his company. Enjoy the fact that you found a long lost friend again.”

“I could do that.” Charles whispers.

“Good.” Ruth nods. “Now eat a roll and tell me again about how you managed to get into Oxford at sixteen.” 

Charles complies, telling Ruth how he arrived on campus and had to convince his resident advisor he was truly a student at the university, not someone’s younger brother, all while popping bits of roll into his mouth. Ruth laughs, just as she does every time Charles tells her this story.

* * *

Erik looks incredibly handsome. He’s dressed in tightly fitted pants that accentuate his long, lean legs, and a leather jacket that is effortlessly cool. Charles feels small and out of place walking beside him. He has no idea where they might be going and is too afraid to ask. Erik has been quiet since they left the apartment and Charles fumbles around for a topic to break the silence.

“I bought a book about chess.” He finally gets out and cringes at his words.

“Really?” Erik replies, looking over at him, his expression curious and not nearly as judgmental as Charles thought it would be.

“I thought it would be best to be better prepared for our next match. I clearly need the help.” He responds, letting himself smile at his own self-depricating joke.

Erik doesn’t smile back and Charles’ stomach drops. He’s messed it up somehow.

“You’re an excellent player.” He adds, hoping that complementing Erik might be a better approach.

Erik ignores his comment entirely and Charles can feel the horrible pressure of tears behind his eyes. He blinks furiously, watching his feet hit the sidewalk and wishing the ground might open up and swallow him whole. His body shakes with emotion and he jams his hands deep into his pockets to try and stop the movement.

“Do you like coffee?” Erik asks suddenly.

“I... no. I’m sorry, my friend.” Charles replies. “I’m afraid I’m far too English. Never developed a taste for the stuff.”

“You like tea then.” Charles nods, and Erik smirks. “No wonder. The coffee here tastes like chicory." He licks his lips. "There’s a nice place a few blocks from here, though. They serve good stuff. Tea and coffee." He glances over. "You look cold, a hot drink might be nice.”

“Yes.” Charles agrees readily. “Thank you.”

The café is cozy and warm. A musician with an acoustic guitar is setting up in one corner. Erik orders, an Earl Grey for Charles and a black coffee for himself, while Charles finds a table in the corner. They're relatively secluded, their little space removed from the other tables by a half wall.

Their drinks arrive. Charles lifts his cup to his nose and simply inhales the scent, letting the hot beverage warm his hands and his face. 

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone get so much pleasure from a cup of tea.” Erik says with a teasing smile.

“It’s the simple pleasures that make life worth living I think.” Charles replies, feeling his cheeks flush.

Erik is silent again, but this time Charles finds the silence calming. It truly feels like they are two friends, sitting at a table, enjoying each others’ company. The pressure to say the right thing, to somehow be the kind of man worthy of Erik’s friendship is slowly fading away. Perhaps, perhaps Charles, just Charles as he is, will be enough.

“Have you been keeping up with the space race?” Charles asks. 

This, apparently, was exactly the right thing to say. It seems to open the door to conversation and topics flow between them like an endless rushing stream. They talk about the space race (Erik is very interested in the engineering side of things, while Charles is more taken with the impact of space of the human body and general shift in the human psyche of what is possible for man to achieve), they debate books (they’ve both recently read ‘A Man In The High Castle’), they talk about New York City (so bustling and hectic, so full of life). 

Charles cannot quite believe they have fallen so easily into friendship again. Erik’s mind is as bright and obstinate as ever. Charles finds he loves watching Erik frown his way through each counterpoint he presents in argument just as much as he enjoys watching Erik flash his toothy smile when they agree. Without meaning to Charles is counting each time he has been able to make Erik laugh out loud (four times). And if his stomach lurches in a pained pleasure each time, he ignores it the best he can, though it is so very difficult.

Who wouldn’t notice the aggressive pleasure on Erik’s face each time he smiles? Or the firm, masculine line of his lips? Or the entrancingly mysterious blue-green colour of his eyes? Is there any way for Charles to leave tonight not completely in love with Erik once more, except even more deeply so than when he was a boy? Because now Erik is a flesh and blood man, sitting right in front of Charles, not a fantasy written on a piece of paper and Charles would be happy to look at nothing else for the rest of his days.

They are both startled when the waitress behind the main counter rings a bell and hollers out an announcement: the café is closing in five minutes. Somehow they have been sitting and talking for hours.

He and Erik clear their stack of empty cups off the table and Charles does his best not to stare at the graceful elegance of Erik’s long fingers and capable hands. He is mostly successful.

The bite of the night air when they step onto the sidewalk is bitter and cold. Charles finds it doesn’t bother him much though, not with Erik walking beside him, not as they keep talking and talking, never at a loss for words, always a new avenue to discover.

When they stop outside Charles’ building it is hard to say goodnight. Charles can’t invite Erik up, Ruth is likely sleeping and Erik confesses he has stayed out far later than his aunt and uncle will approve of.

When Erik says: “Chess on Wednesday in the park?” Charles replies, “Yes.” without a second's hesitation.

Charles is fiddling with his keys when he hears it: the scuffing of feet on pavement, muffled shouts, and the unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh. Charles turns and looks toward the source of the noise, curiosity getting the better of him.

Someone, some large hulking someone, is slamming Erik up against a wall half a block away. Charles is moving before he can stop to think.

“Damn dirty Jew.” The attacker’s voice is harsh and full of contempt.

Charles moves faster. Erik is holding the man back and kicking him in the shins with brutal efficiency. But the larger man is not letting him go.

Charles is only a few meters away when Erik spots him. Charles give him his best reassuring smile, but Erik’s eyes only widen in horror and his distraction allows his attacker to land a solid blow to his face.

Charles knows what he has to do.

He runs, full tilt, toward the larger man and tackles him hard in the side. The impact hurts, but somehow, despite the man being at least twice his size, Charles knocks him off his feet and to the ground.

Charles’ triumph doesn’t last. The bigger man has him pinned down on the ground, arm pressed hard on his throat within seconds. It’s not an unfamiliar position and Charles bucks and kicks with everything he has - to no avail, until suddenly Erik is looming over them both. With quick precision Erik swings a garbage can lid at the attacker and he falls to the side, his body slack. Charles gulps in a desperate breath.

“Charles!” Erik’s voice sounds frantic to Charles’ ears. “Scheiße! O, Mann - Scheiße! Why did you do that? You could have gotten yourself killed!”

“Helped you.” Charles spits out, blood pooling in his mouth.

“Du Volltrottel," Erik says crouching beside him and propping him up slowly, cradling him in his arms. “Don’t ever do that again. Mensch, ich... I thought I was going to lose you.”

Charles gropes around for a second until he finds Erik’s free hand and squeezes it tightly. “Right here.” He says, feeling a bit dizzy even though he’s lying across Erik’s lap. “Not letting you go.” 

He lifts Erik’s hand and kisses his knuckles. There’s a distant voice in his head that is saying he shouldn’t have done that, but he can’t bring himself to care. Erik is here and he’s safe and Charles is... complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German Translations
> 
> Scheiße! - Shit  
Du Volltrottel - complete/utter fool (but in an endearing way :))  
Mensch - Human (here) dude/bro  
Ich - I


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not how Erik thought the night was gonna end...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a short discussion of early Nazi Germany in here. Nothing graphic or violent at all, but I did use the term "Jewess" ( the German would have been Jüdin) as that is how people there would refer to Jewish women at the time. Jewish people used the word too, at least when describing how they were seen by Nazis.

Erik is frozen to the spot. That's what it feels like, he can't move, too many conflicted emotions. Charles is _hurt_, Charles is in his arms, Charles kissed his hand, Charles is not going away, he may or may not have killed that Mortimer guy, Ruth is running and shouting, wait, what Ruth -

"Ruth, stay back!"

"The hell I am!" She runs faster, jumps and -

The guy makes a sound like a whimpering dog. Definitely not dead, then, though he might wish he were, what with Erik's irate cousin stomping on his nuts with her full weight. That has got to hurt.

Ruth has a vicious look that he hasn't seen on her before. She's puffy eyed, like she's been crying and somehow the guy is bearing the brunt of it. "Ruthie stop," he says, as Charles shifts in his arms, "please, Charles needs help, stop!"

"Stay down!" she shouts, then kneels next to Charles. "You idiot." 

Erik is loath to hand Charles over, but he can't leave Toynbee anywhere near him, so he swipes a quick hand over Charles' cheek and jumps up to put a foot on the man's neck. "Move and I'll kill you," he hisses, and then turns to Ruth. "We need an ambulance..."

"Way ahead of ya, Superman," Ruth sneers. "I called 911 as soon as I heard."

"Mmm fine," Charles protests, but Ruth shushes him. "Don't move. That is what you should have done."

Charles frowns. "Erik - "

"Shhh, I'm fine," Erik says softly. Ruth frowns. "I think your nose is broken." 

He touches it, sees his fingers smeared with blood. "...oh."

Ruth nods at the man. "You know this guy?"

Erik snorts. "He works at the firm," he says. "Worked, I should say. I found errors in his plans, so uncle David sacked him." He smiles down at the groaning figure. "Mortimer Toynbee. We called him Toad." He looks over to Charles, pulls off his jacket. "He's getting cold, we should..." 

"We're not moving him until the ambulance comes!" 

"Ruth," Charles whispers. " you ...kay?" 

"I will be when this night is over," she says, nearly sobbing again. 

Erik freezes. "Ruthie, what happened?"

"Here they are now," she says, and clings a little closer to Charles.

Erik tries to keep his head together through the rest of it. He honestly doesn't care what happens to Toad, though it's important that they don't get charged with assault themselves. He only has eyes for Charles, who's being resolutely urged into the ambulance by a kind young paramedic called Hank. 

"Any next of kin we can call?" 

"No!" Charles says, and it's far too strong a reaction to Erik's liking. "They're in England, I'm fine, please don't call anyone -" 

"I'll go with him," Erik says resolutely. 

"No you're not," Ruth says. "You're going home. I'll go." 

"I'm not leaving him," he hisses.

"Listen up, Erik," Ruth says, "if you don't get home within the next half hour, Mama will panic and send the whole mishpocha to our house. That's the last thing I need. Clean your face up and go." 

"I'd listen to her," the policewoman grins. 

Erik squeezes Charles' hand. "I'll be over first thing in the morning."

Charles gives him a smile that makes his heart melt. "I'll be fine."

"Better be," Erik chides, and nearly blurts out: "Love you!"

_Love you._

"OK... gotta run," he says to no one in particular, and that's exactly what he does. Run.

_I love you._

That can't be right.

He knows he likes girls. He really does like girls. Kissing girls and touching girls and -

_I love you._

Yes, of course he does, as a _friend, _a good friend, the best he's ever had and...

He's crying. _I love you. Hab dich lieb._

Please G-d.

He's bawling his eyes out on the sidewalk. Charles won't want him like this. A, a... it's not right, it's against... why would G-d do this to him, take his best friend by love, by

_Hab dich lieb. Liebe dich. Lieb dich, Charles, ich liebe dich._

He keeps crying until he runs out of breath. He drags himself to the door, where both David and Rosa meet him.

"Thank G-d, son, what happened?"

Aunt Rosa gasps. "Erik, what happened to your face?"

"Got attacked," Erik says. It's already an afterthought.

At their combined outrage he merely shakes his head. "Spoke to the police. Please. It's fine -"

"It's not..."

"Please auntie, ich... I can't, please." He takes a laboured breath, and her face softens.

"At least will you let me look at your nose?"

He hiccups. "Swolen. Not broken. Bitte ich... lass mich, I..." 

David smiles. "Perhaps some tea?" 

"No," he brings out, and aunt Rosa takes his hand.

"Bubeleh. What do you need?"

He looks at her. He's past all shame.

"Mami." 

"Alright," David says. "Come into the office."

Erik just blinks. 

"You're phoning home," aunt Rosa says. "It's past two, they'll be up." 

When he hears Mama's voice he nearly breaks down a second time. He tries to explain what happened, that he means no harm, to anyone, and -

"Erik, stop."

"...Mama?"

She takes a breath. "We love you. Your father loves you, Schatz. I love you. That's never going to change." 

He claws at the receiver. "But what do I tell -"

"You need to talk to your aunt." 

"My _aunt_?"

There's a smile in Mama's voice. "Trust me. She'll know what to do." 

He whispers, afraid she'll hear through the door. "Mama. You know I love her. But aunt Rosa is - " 

"Far smarter than anyone gives her credit for. Now get some rest, Schatz. Alles ist gut." 

"Thank you, Mama." He wants to say "I love you," but can't get the words out. "Give Papa... give Papa my best." 

He's a little annoyed now, and that's a welcome change. Feels like himself, at least.

Outside the door he nearly walks into Max, who's crept downstairs. "What's going on?" he whispers, a conspiratorial grin on his face. 

"Aunt Edie says go study your Torah," he grumbles, leaving the astonished boy behind. "And go to bed." 

\---

He sleeps, eventually. He thinks so, it's hard to say. The next morning, at breakfast, he's nearly tackled by his older relatives.

"Good morning, Erik," his uncle says, all boss mode. "I need to you to tell me exactly what happened. I need to contact my attorney." 

He's eyeing the door. "Uncle, I understand. But give me an hour. Please." 

David is starting to look impatient. "Erik. If you're hiding something, that could hurt us. Badly."

"It was Toynbee," he said. "Attacked me, drunk, so I hit back. Ruth called the police and an ambulance."

Aunt Rosa has gone ramrod straight. "Ruth was involved?" Uncle David looks even more worried at the word 'ambulance'. 

"When were you planning on telling us that?" Rosa says sharply. 

Erik straightens his back. "Once I've seen her. Uncle, I swear on Mama's life, I'll be back with a report, but I have to see her. Now." 

"I'm coming," Rosa says. "We'll get groceries -" 

"Will you _forget _the groceries!" Erik says, "She's hardly starving, uncle, I need to go -"

"We'll take the car," aunt Rosa says. "That'll spare you at last twenty minutes." 

He bows his head, defeated. "Yes, aunt Rosa."

They're not even in the car when the questioning begins. "You were with Charles again, weren't you?" she says, "The one who lives with Ruth?" 

He nods silently.

"He must have seen it, then. What did he do?" 

_He kissed my hand. He snuggled up. He risked his life for me._

"He... eh..." 

Aunt Rosa shakes her head. "Let's get going." 

They're silent until the first traffic light, and that's not like Rosa. Erik is grateful. He can't think of anything but Charles, lying on that stretcher. 

_Let him be alright, please, let him be OK. _

He keeps stroking his knuckles, and nearly jumps when Rosa says: "Charles. Your friend. Your mother tells me you were close."

"Yes, he's my friend," Erik says. "My... good friend." 

"Still?" she asks after a pause.

"Yes, of course!" 

Rosa is silent for a bit longer this time.

"I had a friend like that," she says eventually. "In Berlin. Trudi Bergmann. Gertrud." 

He doesn't really care until she says: "She was being rebellious, of course. Dating me, a girl. And a Jewess." 

He stares at her, and she goes on. "Of course, I was the same. Though her being a shikse was the least of our concerns." She gives him a quick glance. "We knew what they'd do to girls like us. That's why I fled so soon. In time, I should say." 

He breathes out: "I'm not like..." 

"You mean you're not gay? As if it were wrong if you were?" She frowns. "Don't talk like that, Erik." Then she smiles. "For the record, neither am I. I do love your uncle. Like that. But I never forgot her."

Erik swallows. "What happened?"

"To Gertrud?" Now her tone is bitter. "She became one of the most fanatic Nazis in town." She sighs, flexes her fingers. "I know she was scared. And I am too, still. It's safer to be out here, but not by much. You have to be very careful." 

Erik makes a fist. "I don't know if he... if we... We're _friends, _auntie..." 

"Good," she says. "Get out, I'll park." 

Rattled as he is, his only thought is, again, of Charles as he jumps out, runs up, and starts hammering at the door. "Ruth! Ruth! You home?"

No reaction.

"Ruth!" He calls again. "How's Charles?" 

She yanks the door open. "Shut up! He's asleep." Her eyes are glistening with tears. 

He touches her arm. "Ruthie, what's wrong now...?"

But right then, Rosa walks up, her usual oy veying self, and the house turns into a hurricane. The second she hears Charles is hurt, she speeds to his room.

He lifts a sleepy, completely adorable mushed head as she opens the window, fluffs up his pillows, refills a water glass and starts prowling for medicine. Erik is sent away for kosher chicken, and to his surprise, Ruth immediately comes with him. 

"I don't want to be there," she says, as soon as they're outside. "Sorry for not opening before. I thought it was him."

"Who?" He looks at her. "Your ex?" 

She nods, looking very small. 

"Ruth," he says. "Is he threatening you?"

She heaves. "I don't know. It's a mess." 

He feels anger rise, white and hot behind his eyes. "That..." 

"I want it," she says. "Part of me wants it, it's sick. But I can't stay here, I can't do this, everytime I'm alone, he turns up." She shudders. "He can't know where I live." 

"Do you want to move?"

She snorts. "Can't get out of the lease," she says. "Besides, there's Charles - "

"I could move in," he says. 

They're both startled. Erik clears his throat. "Yeah," he says. "I've made uncle David give me a salary, you know, since I've been doing most of that other guy's work for a while now. I _am_ an architect, I could find a job somewhere else, I just wanted the experience..." 

Ruth blinks. "I'll think about it," she says eventually. "Let's first get Charles better." 

"OK," Erik says. 

_Maybe_, his heart sings. _Maybe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ich hab' dich lieb/ich liebe dich: I love you  
Mishpocha: The whole family/clan/neighbourhood etc.  
Lass mich: leave me be  
Bitte: please  
Shikse/Shiksa: non Jewish girl  
Schatz: treasure  
Alles ist gut (You all know this, right?) Everything is fine


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles recovers. Charles and Erik spend their first evening together as room mates.

The past two weeks had been a heady mix of invasive attention and chaos. Since that fateful night when Erik had been attacked and Charles had thrown himself into the fray to aid his friend, the apartment had been bustling with activity. Someone was always in the apartment with him, Ruth, Rosa, or Erik – sometimes all three – hovering over him with a caring attention Charles had no idea how to react to.

Then there was the chaos – Ruth was moving out, packing her things and headed back home to live with her parents. It was the right choice and Charles couldn’t possibly argue with her about it. He didn’t want her living in fear of her ex coming around frightening her, but he couldn’t deny he was going to miss her and her spunky attitude.

Of course Ruth moving out meant someone had to move in, and that someone, much to Charles’ dismay and delight, was Erik.

Tonight is their first night alone in the apartment together – room mates for the foreseeable future.

Charles is walking home from a long day at the university, finally back to school and his lab work this week after having to take time off to recover from his cracked ribs and bruised throat. He’d barely been able to speak above a whisper for a week and TA-ing his classes had been out of the question. Now, back to the grind of his regular life at school he is returning to an apartment that feels almost foreign. 

There is no one home when he arrives and Charles breathes a sigh of relief, still unsure how he is supposed to interact with Erik as his room mate. He gets the kettle out and puts it on the stove to boil, sticking a couple slices of bread in the toaster while he waits.

Charles is on the sofa, nose buried in a book, notepad balanced on his lap when Erik gets home an hour later.

Charles glances up when Erik strides through the door and immediately wishes he hadn’t – Erik looks perfect. Black suit, skinny black tie, crisp white dress shirt; he could be a model out of the pages of a magazine. All weeks Erik’s been dressed to impress, hitting the pavement everyday to go looking for a new job, attending interviews and dropping off his resume to any architectural firm that will take it.

Today Erik looks energetic and is carrying a bag in his left hand that he lifts up with a smile when he notices Charles looking at him.

“I brought dinner home. Have you eaten?”

“No.” Charles shakes his head – surely two burnt pieces of toast don’t count as dinner.

“Well come join me then. I got soup and sandwiches from the deli down the street.”

Charles gets up, slipping off his reading glasses, and hastily brushing the crumbs from his toast off his clothes. Compared to Erik’s perfectly fitted suit, he feels horribly underdressed in his trousers and cardigan, but there’s hardly time to change now.

“Thank you for bringing enough food home for me.” Charles says as he sits down at the table. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“It was nothing.” Erik shrugs. “Besides, if aunt Rosa comes by next week and thinks you’ve lost weight, she’ll have both our heads.”

Charles feels himself squirming and flushing at the very idea that someone would be looking at him closely enough and caring so much as to notice whether he is losing or gaining weight.

The food is good, if slightly unfamiliar. The soup is still quite hot and Charles savours the warmth of it flooding his body on what has been a cold November day. The sandwich is thick with some type of fragrant cured meat. It’s more food than Charles has eaten all day and his stomach responds with happy satisfaction.

“Ruth said you had rules.” Erik says sometimes later, when they have both stopping eating. “Some kind of room mate rules?”

“Ah, yes.” Charles nods quickly. “It would be more accurate to say Ruth had very clear rules I had to agree to before I moved in.” At Erik’s frown, Charles hastens to explain. “They were all very reasonable rules and easy to follow. Not any sort of hardship.”

“I think it would be good if we had rules too.”

“Yes, yes of course. What did you have in mind?” Charles asks, hoping Erik’s requests will be as simple as Ruth’s.

“I like things to be organized. I think it would be fair for us both to keep the common areas clean, tidy up after ourselves, that sort of thing.”

Charles winces, knowing he’s left a stack of books and papers by the sofa and a plate and tea cup on the coffee table.

“I’m very sorry, Erik. I’ll clean up my mess right now.”

He’s halfway to the living room when a hand catches hold of his wrist and stops him.

“I wasn’t... I didn’t mean to criticize Charles.” Erik’s voice is soft and apologetic. “You can clean up later - no we'll clean it up together later. I just... it’s just a general idea. If you’re working on your studies, its fine for you to have your things out here. This is your apartment too." Erik tugs on his wrist gently, pulling Charles back from where he came from. "Please come back to the table.”

Charles sits back down at the table, but finds it difficult to lift his gaze back to Erik. His palms itch to correct his mistake, to pick his things up and put them in his room and do whatever it takes to make sure Erik isn’t displeased with his current living arrangement. 

“It’s your turn.” Erik prompts gently. “What’s a rule you’d like to have?”

“Me?” Charles looks up, eyes wide with surprise.

“Yes, you.” Erik smiles fondly. 

“I...” Charles stops and frowns, chewing on his lip as he thinks over Erik’s question. “I would like it if you tell me before you have a party, or invite people over.” He says hesitantly. “Your family can come by anytime of course, but otherwise, if you could let me know... that would be nice.”

“Very reasonable.” Erik grinned. “I like to get up early in the morning to go running – will that bother you?”

“I shouldn’t think so. I’m usually up in good time for morning classes.”

“Excellent.” Erik grinned again and Charles managed to smile back.

They negotiated back and forth for a few minutes – Erik likes to make coffee in the mornings, Charles makes tea, Charles would shower at night, Erik after his run in the morning, they both agreed to set money aside to save to buy a television, but for now they argued playfully about what to listen to on the radio.

By this point Charles feels relaxed again, at ease in the apartment and unbelievably glad Erik is here with him – his first and only true friend. It is that comfort, the unexpected ‘rightness’ of the last ten minutes that makes the next question catch him so off guard.

“And when you bring some beautiful young woman home? Do we need some sort of signal for that?” 

Erik is smiling, almost teasing, but Charles is caught completely by surprise, mouth gaping at Erik’s question.

“Erm... I... I’ve never had much luck with... that’s is I’m not sure women are very... I’m afraid I never know what to say.” He stutters out. “I can’t imagine I’ll be bringing anyone by.” He finishes on a whisper, eyes downcast, fingers fiddling with his water glass.

Charles startles when he feels Erik’s hand touch his, slipping between Charles hand and the glass, twining their fingers together gently. For a moment, Charles forgets how to breathe, or even why he should.

Drawing in a much needed, but ragged breath, Charles tilts his head upward and finds himself caught by Erik’s blue grey eyes.

“I don’t mind, Charles. If its just us, just you and me here, I think that would be perfect.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's many things Charles can't say to Erik. There's one thing Erik can't not say to Charles.

Erik is an ass.

What - _what in heaven _\- was he doing ordering Charles around just now? Charles, of all people! The man is on a fast track to become a professor and Erik thinks he can tell him what to do?

For G-d's sake. Now he's scuttling around to clean up in his own living room, where he's been for months, all at Erik's... prompt would be the kindest word. Why would he care in the slightest what Erik has to say? He's an _academic, _hell, he's practically an aristocrat, and Erik is just... 

He can't make him out. He's never been so embarrassed as to have gone on about the _mechanics_ of the space race, while Charles is a person who considers the implacations for, oh, the whole human race. As one does.

But he's also... 

He's also just like Max, if Max were shy, and gentle and lovely (Max is lively and funny and a pain in the ass). Erik is barely a year older than Charles, but that urge to protect him has always been there, and, well, rightly so, it seems. Charles is... such a boy, really. Such a beautiful, genius, incredibly sexy boy...

"Erik?" Charles looks up at him, arms full of notes. "I... I don't really have a space for this. Do you mind if I leave them on the counter for now?" 

"I'll get you some extra storage units tomorrow," he says. "Ruth was really hogging the space, huh?"

"She needed the light," he says. "I'm worried, really. How is she going to work?"

Erik needs to suppress the urge to kiss his crown. "In a studio, Charles. A place actually designed for artists." 

He lowers his eyes again, and Erik hastens to take his papers from him. "Sorry. I don't mean to belittle you. It - I... We can be very direct where I come from. My father was a military man when he was younger, they -"

"You've never belittled me," Charles says, quietly but firm. "I know what that feels like."

Erik feels his mouth twist. "You've never written a word about it," he says. "Will you tell me what happened?"

There it is again, that steely gaze. "I'd rather not, Erik."

"OK." He puts Charles' notes on the counter. "I'll get you a folder for these." Charles nods eagerly, and again guiltily, before he hastens to pick up another mug. Erik has nearly left the living room when he turns back and says: "It's not happening now, is it? At work?"

Charles' whole body cramps up. Bingo. 

Erik walks back. "Charles, please. Please tell me you're OK." 

He doesn't look at him. "I am OK. It's fine." 

Erik stands completely still. "But." 

Charles bites his lip. "Professor Stryker's tough, but he's the best." Then he grimaces. "And some of the kids - they'll never amount to anything, not in this field, and they know it too." 

"Charles," Erik says softly. "What do they do."

"They pick stupid fights and they always lose," he says. Then he smiles. "Most of the students now shut them up for me." He looks radiant. "They _like _me, Erik."

"Of course they like you," Erik says. "Who couldn't like you?"

Charles scrunches up his face. "Everyone, so far. Except Ruth." He moves away, places the mug on the counter. "How _is _Ruth?"

"Ruth's safe," Erik says, a little short. "Are you?" 

"Of course I'm safe," Charles squirms. "Why wouldn't I be? They don't -" 

"Don't what?" Erik stands before him. "Don't beat you? Like that's the minimum requirement?" 

Charles clenches a fist close to his chest. "I can take it."

Erik breathes out. "You shouldn't have to take it." 

"Yes I do!" It's the first time Erik's seen him truly angry, those sapphire blue eyes sharp and radiant, body tense. "We can't all be as lucky as you, Erik, some of us, we take it on the chin, because we have to _get on with it,_ Erik, can't you see?" 

Erik grabs his hand. "Never again. I won't let anyone hurt you, ever again -" 

Charles lifts his chin. "You can't fight an idea, Erik, not like that..."

Erik smiles. "That's where you're wrong, Charles, when I'm done with those guys -" 

"Don't you dare." Charles' voice is razor sharp. "That would only confirm their suspicions." 

"What _suspicions?" _The idea's laughable; Charles wouldn't hurt a fly.

Charles' mouth twists. "You know what they say. About boys like me. At Oxford. And Eton." 

Erik breathes out. "No, I don't." 

Charles pulls back his hand. "They say I'm queer. A bugger. Fag. Fairy boy." 

Erik winces. "You make it sound ugly." 

Charles looks at him. "I've never even kissed anyone." 

"You have." Erik takes Charles' hand, slowly, and brings his knuckles to his lips.

Charles trembles as Erik's kiss brushes his skin, feather light. 

He looks up. "Best kiss I ever had." 

Charles' mouth twists. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not - " 

"I won't be your little experiment!" Charles walks away. "Erik, you like girls!" 

Erik straightens. "I like girls," he says. "But I love you."

Charles sits down. "Jesus, Erik..." he huffs out. "You don't even know me..." 

"Your father died when you were eight," Erik says. "Your favourite book is still _The Origin of Species._ You support Tottenham Hotspur, because they never win. You hate Elvis, and you listen to classical music for fun. You're a good batter, whatever that means." 

He sits next to him. "How am I doing?" 

"Terrible," Charles says. "Erik, they'll come for my job..." 

"_I _won't tell them." 

"They'll have my head," Charles says. His eyes fill with tears. "They'll have your head..." 

Erik feels something well up himself. "Charles, if you don't want this, I'll leave. I'll be on the next boat to Bremerha -" 

"Don't!"

The next moment is gone so quickly Erik feels he's dreamt it, but Charles' lips, so soft, are on his, and Erik's whole body tingles. Charles' mouth is so red, too much, and his finger brushes his lower lip as if he himself can't believe it, and Erik _ can't stand it_, he kisses him, kisses him again, feeling those soft lips between his own. He probes then, a soft question, but Erik needs no invitation. Charles nearly melts against him, a moan of such need on his lips it almost breaks his heart. He kisses back, ferocious, and Erik pulls him close, and, oh, he feels half mad with lust, but he can feel Charles trembling, crying, so Erik kisses him again: his forehead, cheeks, the side of his face, his hands stroking Charles' hair.

_I love you, Charles, ich lieb' dich._

Charles huddles close. "Don't leave me."

He cups his face. "I won't."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More kisses. Charles has a tough day at school and comes home to an unexpected surprise.
> 
> A note for readers: the rating for this fic has now changed from T to M.
> 
> Thanks again to my lovely collaborator, Fantine_Black, for all your help!

Charles never wants to leave the apartment again. He never wants to leave this couch. He never wants to leave Erik’s warm embrace.

It’s needy and weak and ridiculous, but he can’t stop himself.

Erik kissed him. _Kissed him_.

Erik is holding him close and touching his face so tenderly, and Charles never wants it to end.

Charles leans forward and tentatively touches his lips to Erik’s, his eyes fluttering closed as a moan escapes his throat again – he can’t seem to stop making noises every time he and Erik kiss. Erik is so silent, so strong, so sure of himself, while Charles’ whole body is quivering; so many years of suppressed emotion now bubbling to the surface, he simply cannot control his own reaction.

Charles has spent years preparing himself for slaps, punches and kicks. For harsh words, teasing, and cold shoulders. He has no idea what to do with this... tenderness, this love. Erik said he _loved_ him.

Charles pulls himself away from Erik, away from the kisses, his body trembling and his heart hammering.

“Am I... am I doing it right?” He stutters out, looking up into Erik’s eyes.

“Best kiss of my life.” Erik smiles softly, stroking a finger down Charles’ cheek and making him shiver. “Relax, Süßer. Nothing you do will be wrong.”

“That can’t possible be true.” Charles whispers back, hopelessly overwhelmed by last five minutes. “I’m always messing things up.”

“Charles,” Erik frowns and Charles tenses, preparing himself for the worst. “Charles, you are _brilliant_. And you’re funny and brave and the kindest man I have ever met.”

“You think that now, but -”

“But nothing.” Erik’s frown is even deeper now. “You’ll make mistakes, I’ll make mistakes – that’s normal. It won’t change how I feel.”

“Even if I’m awful at... things.” Charles feels himself blush from his neck to the roots of his hair.

“What things?” Erik smirks. “These things?”

Charles twitches and bites his lips to keep from groaning when Erik leans in and nips at his ear and then trails his tongue down his neck.

“We just need practice, Charles. Say you’ll practice with me?” Erik whispers in his ear.

“Yes.” Charles moans, unable to hold in his reaction to Erik’s licks and nibbles.

Charles reaches out and pulls, surprising himself with the strength of his desire. Oh, but he’s wanted Erik for so long. He’s spent so many years dreaming about him, so many years imagining what it would be like to have Erik beside him, he simply can’t pass up his chance now.

So he tugs Erik forward and lets himself lie back on the couch. He’s frantic, grabbing at Erik’s shirt, trying to get closer, as close as possible. Their lips meet and tongues touch. Charles can’t get enough. He loves the feel of Erik on top of him, the weight of him, the smell, the slight friction of his scruff against Charles’ skin.

“Erik...”

Charles tugs at Erik’s shirt again, harder this time, slipping his hands underneath and touching the smooth skin of Erik’s back. Erik’s responding growl is shocking, but it is the sharp thrust of his hips that makes Charles gasp.

“Erik.” Charles whimpers. “I want... I want...”

“Shhh.” Erik whispers back, clasping Charles face gently in his hands. “I’m sorry, Charles. We’re going too fast.”

It’s only when Erik stops, stills himself completely that Charles can hear his own panting and feel his body shaking.

“It’s getting late. I have to go do some prep work for my interviews tomorrow.” Erik says, easing himself back and sitting on the opposite end of the couch, putting a good foot of space between them.

Charles awkwardly pushes himself back into a sitting position, his heart still beating wildly, clutching his hands in his lap.

“You’ll be here in the morning?” He asks, wanting to kick himself as soon as the words come out.

Head hanging, he waits; surely now Erik will see how unworthy he is. He startles when he feels Erik’s hands clasp his and pull him to his feet.

“I will be here in the morning. I will be here every morning, unless you ask me to leave.” Erik states, his voice full of determination.

Charles cannot even imagine a scenario where he would ask Erik to leave. This man, the love of his life, who’s kissed him and said he loves him, and thinks he’s smart and kind and brave – why would he ever want him to leave?

“Okay?” Erik asks.

“Okay.” Charles nods, wide eyed and feeling stunned.

“Good night.”

Charles almost falls back in heady surprise when Erik kisses him again, hard and quick, and then he’s gone, striding down the hall to his room. Charles stands in the living room for several minutes, his lips tingling and brain humming, before he makes his way to his own room.

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night; Charles’ thoughts race and his body throbs. All he can think about is Erik. Erik and his kisses, the feel of Erik’s skin under his hands, the thrill of Erik’s tongue on his neck.

Charles lies there for hours, thinking, replaying every moment over in his mind and wishing he were truly brave; brave enough to get up out of his bed and slip into Erik’s and finish what they started. At some point, when he’s deliriously tired, only moments before sleep finally takes him, he wonders if Erik is thinking the same thing.

* * *

Erik is there in the morning. His cheeks are pink and his hair is plastered to his head with sweat from his run. He smirks as Charles stares and then sneaks in to give Charles a quick peck on the mouth before he heads off to the shower. Charles suddenly doubts whether he is dreaming or awake, though the steam from the hot tea on the counter suggests he is awake.

He spends the day like that – in a sort of dreamy haze.

He teaches a class in the morning and answers questions afterward, but can barely remember what he lectured about half an hour later. Mitchell Harris, a fellow TA in the biology department who never misses an opportunity to bother Charles, trips him outside the library while he’s carrying a stack of books. Charles ends up halfway buried in a snowbank, but he just giggles at the absurdity of it all and Mitchell stalks off, clearly unhappy with the outcome of his prank.

Later, just after lunch, Professor Stryker absolutely tears him apart after finding one spelling mistake and a misplaced comma in a fifty page journal article submission Charles wrote while recuperating at home. Charles hears the words coming out of his mouth, but he isn’t really listening and he only flinches, the world suddenly coming back into clear focus, when Stryker slams his palm down on his desk and orders Charles to re-type the entire thing by the end of the day.

Charles is now no longer lost in a haze, but rather buried under a pile of paperwork.

When he finally staggers out of his office at 7pm, the world in front of him is slightly blurry and his head is pounding, but the report has been retyped and re-read twice to check for errors. Charles drops the report off in Professor Stryker’s mailbox and makes his way home.

He is bone tired. And hungry – the last thing he ate was a very sad looking cucumber and cheese sandwich at lunch and his stomach is growling.

He is going home. Home to Erik. Which makes him walk faster, despite his fatigue. Maybe, when he gets home Erik will kiss him. Maybe tonight he’ll be brave enough to invite Erik to his room. Maybe Erik will have _food_.

The five flights of stairs are impossible tonight. Charles has to stop halfway up and take a break.

By the time he makes it to the door, he is set on throwing himself into Erik’s arms, snuggling in and never letting go.

Now, right now, he has Erik. But it’s only a matter of time until Erik realizes that Charles isn’t worth it. That he’s not worth the risk of living as a man who loves another man. Charles isn’t really all that lovable anyway; he’s clumsy, and he gets lost in his head sometimes, and he’s really nothing to look at, physically speaking. Erik will tire of him; it’s inevitable. Charles will enjoy him while he’s here. He will cherish each and every moment and remember them until the end of time.

Charles fits his key into the lock and opens the door. The relief he feels when he immediately spots Erik is palpable. He opens his mouth to say something – something ridiculous like ‘Thank goodness you’re here’, or ‘I could just kiss you right now’, or even ‘God, I love you’ - but before anything can cross his lips, Rosa pops out from behind Erik, a broad smile on her face.

“Ah, there you are! Finally here! Come in, come in.” Rosa waves him into the dining room where Charles finds Ruth, her father David, and a teenage boy already sitting around their tiny table that can barely fit four people.

Charles feels his stomach begin to churn. Everyone is here. He cannot give them any reason to suspect he and Erik are more than friends. Ruth may be accepting of his sexuality, but Erik’s aunt and uncle... well Charles is very familiar with how his own parents feel about him and he will do anything and everything to make sure Erik never experiences that kind of rejection.

“We’re celebrating. Erik got offered a job at Davis, Brody and Wisniewski today!” Rosa exclaims, beaming with pride.

Charles smiles tightly, and sits down at the table, squeezed between Ruth and her father. He takes a deep breath and hopes he can be bland and boring and somewhat normal. Anything to keep Erik’s secret.


	14. Chapter 14

He'd wanted to tell Ruth. 

Only Ruth. 

At his stunned look on the doorstep Ruth merely shrugged, and he could hardly complain about not being able to ravish his beautiful boyfriend when his boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. He did manage a "Really, Ruth?!", but got a smirk in return. "Say sorry to Charles," she whispered. "You knew what you were risking by calling to the house." 

Resigned, Erik has been helping Rosa with dinner, but feels himself getting more anxious by the minute. What will Charles think? And where is he?

"Erik, sit down," David says. "Don't get in the women's way, now." 

"I know how to cook, uncle," Erik says, eyebrows raised.

Max pulls a face. "Eugh." 

Erik walks over to him. "How are you going to keep kosher if you don't know how to cook, Max?"

Max blinks. "The deli?" 

"Not many kosher delis in Düsseldorf," Erik says. 

"That's a good point, actually," David says. "Max, go help your sister." 

Max frowns. "_Everybody _is _always _telling me what to do!" 

"That is because you are a literal child," Ruth says. She shoves the cutting board in his direction. "Here. Go chop these onions. Then you can cry about it and no one will be any the wiser." 

"I am almost bar mitswa!" Max fumes. 

"You will not be if you do not study, Max," David booms. "Now stop whining and start working."

"You're not doing anything," Max sulks. Erik feels slightly scandalised. He'd never have spoken to Papa like that. 

"I'm helping Erik with his contract," David says. He nods to Erik. "Go get it for me, son." 

_"I'm_ your s-"

"Max, get over here this instant!" Rosa says. "Ruth, where do you keep your dishes? I don't understand..." 

"I don't live here anymore, Mama," Ruth says dryly. "Ask Erik. He's organised the kitchen." 

Rosa glowers. "I'd think Edie would have taught you better," she says.

"Still finding my way around," Erik says quickly. He isn't going to embarrass Charles by pointing out that for all his qualities, he's never really learnt to keep house; apparently, Oxford employs manservants. "Ruth, I think you left some of your stuff around. Will you come check while I get the contract?" 

"Ruthie," David scolds, and Ruth shakes her head, muttering, but follows him. "What stuff? I checked -" 

"Sorry, I needed a break," Erik says, safe in her - his - bedroom. "This house is too small for all of them." He looks at her. "How're you holding up?" 

"Yeah, well, it's agony," she quips, "but otherwise it's good." She leaves a breath's pause. "I don't want to be alone too much." 

He nods, and she looks down. "Has Sam..."

"Might have been him on the phone, once or twice," Erik says. "Nothing since." 

"O, that's good," she says, sinking down on the bed. "That's..." 

She starts crying, and Erik sits down next to her, resting her head against his shoulder. "It's OK," he mumbles.

She swallows. "I can't really come here," she says. "I'm sorry, because I miss Charles." 

He smiles. "As opposed to my good self."

Ruth snorts through her tears. "Obviously." She looks up at him. "Don't ruin it, OK."

He blinks. "What?" 

"What you and Charles have brewing. I thought Sam was my best friend, too." 

"Ruth, I don't know -" 

"Yeah, and we're all idiots." She bites her lip. "Don't use him_, _is what I'm saying."

"We're..."

"Two of the most lovesick idiots I've ever seen and if you hurt him, Erik, I'll pull a Toad on you." 

He pulls her close. "Ruth, don't out him." 

She looks at him. "Or you?" 

"I'll be fine," he says. "But Charles has no one to fall back on." 

She smiles. "Mama is about ready to adopt him. Part of the reason she came here, I guess." She turns her head. "Hang on, there's someone on the stairs." 

And there Charles, oh his lovely Charles, there Charles is and it takes Erik's breath away. But he's so pale and why is everyone here, when Charles needs - anyone frankly, but Erik's uncle and young teenage cousin? 

"Charles, you look tired." That's aunt Rosa. And Charles does this - where did he learn it? - straightening of his back thing where he makes sure everyone is comfortable, and cared for, and feels seen, however much pain he's in. He did it to Rosa when he was on bedrest and he's doing it again now: "Don't worry, Mrs. Eisenhardt. Mr. Eisenhardt, such a pleasure to meet you too, your wife and daughter have been ever so kind," and David is basking in it, of course he is. Will no one understand that Charles needs rest, and quiet, and -

"Charles, is that a bruise?" That's Ruth, but Charles still winces. "Might be dirt," Erik says quickly, "give the man a chance to freshen up first!" The look Charles gives him is far more luminous than anyone deserves. "I would, rather," he says, looking around the table with that sweet smile of his. "Since we're celebrating." 

"I'll get you my contract while we wait, uncle," Erik says, getting up with him. 

"Right," Max says, "and what are we supposed to do?"

The "Max!" that erupts is nearly unanimous, and Erik marches over to his bookshelf for a copy of the Tanach. "Here," he says, dropping the book of religious texts in his cousin's lap, "have fun." 

Max opens the book, then frowns. "It's in German!" 

"And Hebrew," David says dryly. "You shouldn't need the translation at this point, Max."

Erik and Charles don't stay for the rest of the discussion. As soon as the door to the living room is closed, Erik bundles Charles in his arms. "Sorrysorrysorrysorry," he mumbles in his hair. "I had no idea they'd all come over." 

Charles doesn't pull away at all. "That's fine," he says. "You know your family is always welcome." 

"Yeah, you must be dying to entertain my bratty cousin," Erik says. "I don't know what his problem is today." 

"That's OK," he says, and he looks up. "Erik, you've got a job!" 

"Yeah," Erik says, laughing sheepishly. "Yeah, I do!" 

And Charles kisses him, and by G-d, he's _delicious_, Erik wants to have him against the wall. The faint smell of sweat and city grime makes it even better. "I could throw them out," he whispers, and Charles laughs. "Erik, no!" 

Erik kisses his neck. "G-d, I could eat you," he whispers. "But if I don't get him that contract uncle David might come get it himself." He kisses Charles' mouth. "Take all the time you need." 

"Won't be long," Charles says, and gives him a look that makes his heart ache. Erik needs quite a lot of willpower to concentrate on any legalese after that, but he finds the contract and obediently trundles to his uncle. 

But David's thinking anything but contracts. The whole family is gathered around Max, who's sobbing his eyes out. "Max, please," Ruth says, worry lacing her voice, but Max just glares at her. "You've never had to do this!"

Ruth frowns. "I'd have loved to - " 

"Children, please," David says. "Max, you're a clever boy. I know you are. If you just put in a little effort..." 

"I do!" Max cries. "I'm trying! I don't understand any of it..." 

"I bet you know more than I do." It's Charles, sounding completely calm. "I don't understand a single word. A single letter even." He sits down next to him. "Why don't you help me out?" 

"Mr. Xavier," David protests, but Rosa nudges him. "I'll get us all some dinner." 

They're all a little bit stumped as they watch the next scene unfold. Max hates studying of any kind, but soon he's talking to Charles in an animated tone, and only when they seem to hit a snag does he falter. Within minutes, Charles has ushered him to his room with an apolegetic smile; the rest of them sit in stunned silence before David, seemingly inspired, starts to pore over the contract, and by the end of the main course, Erik has twenty suggestions to discuss with David's attorney, though it seems that in all, he's been offered a solid deal. The discussion soon turns to art, until Rosa nudges David. 

"Listen..." 

And Erik hears it too, the melodies that bring him straight back, to the Torah classes, but mostly that precious moment as he'd stood there, in shul. He remembers feeling himself grow with every word, taking up the responsibilities of the eldest son, a man in the eyes of G-d. Rosa and David are gripping each other, and Erik remembers both Mama and Papa's fierce pride as he hears Max put the words to the sung melodies. It isn't perfect, not yet, but it's nothing an hour or two won't straighten out, and even Ruth is wearing a soft smile he rarely sees on her.

Rosa can't take it anymore. "Max!" she exclaims, jubilant, running into Charles' bedroom, and Ruth walks over to hug her father as he works to compose himself before Max comes bouncing in and they all gather round him with praise and suggestions. Max only has eyes for Charles.

"You _have _to be there," he says in a tone that's both demanding and imploring. "Papa, I need him, you have to invite him -"

"It was all you, Max," Charles says softly, but Max fixes his father. "Papa!" 

David smiles at Charles, his tone barely steady. "If you could find the time, Mr. Xavier, you would be most welcome at my son's bar mitswa." 

"And you'll come over for shabbos dinner?" Max says, "so we can practice?" 

"Max, stop it," Ruth says. "Charles has a life." 

Charles looks to Rosa. "If I'm welcome..." 

"Hey, hey," Erik says. "Assume that's a given. But don't feel obligated, Charles, I know there's a backlog at work." 

They have dessert, Max keeps sneaking away to practice, and when Erik ushers them out ("I'll do the dishes, I have time!") Charles collapses on the sofa as soon as their footsteps have died down. "Oof."

Erik falls down next to him, strokes the hair out of his face. "Are you," he whispers, "even fucking real?" 

He looks up, a little anxious. "How do you mean?" 

"You've just saved the evening, and gave David the proudest moment of his life yet," Erik says. "However unfair that is on Ruth." 

Charles closes his eyes. "I'm glad to make someone proud." 

" 'Someone' ?" Erik says, "Man, I'm nearly bursting. I want to show you off to the whole world." 

Charles huddles closer. "Please don't," he says. "Erik, please..."

"Do you want to hide your whole life?" Erik says, sitting up, but immediately follows: "Don't answer that. Not tonight. Tonight's ours." 

"I'm so proud of you, too," Charles whispers.

Erik tilts Charles' head back. "Show me how much."

Charles kisses him with surprising fervour, and then pulls Erik on top of him. "Do it," he whispers, squirming out of his clothes, "do it, please, Erik, I want you so much..." 

"Do what?" Erik pants, between hot kisses, "what do you need?" 

"It," Charles says, going for Erik's crotch, "just you, just... I want you." 

"You have me," Erik says, unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm right here." 

"Then do it, I need to feel you, I need..." 

Has anyone ever been as beautiful as this man? Charles' lips are so full and red it's sinful, there is a lithe strength in his movements that tells Erik he could take it if Erik sunk into Charles' soft flesh and lost himself, if Erik flipped him over, spread those full cheeks and led himself inside, if... 

Still.

There's something frantic about it all, the way Charles is moving, and Erik doesn't _like_ it - it's as if he's offering, completely abandoning himself, and not in a good way. Erik sees pain in his whole body, a reckless desperation, and he lets him go. 

"No, Charles," he says softly. "Not like that." 

Charles freezes. "No?" He curls up. "But..." 

Erik grabs his hand. "I want you, I do -" 

"Then stop stalling!" There are tears in Charles's eyes. "Let me give this to you, please..." 

"I'll give," Erik says. "You've done nothing _but _give, all night, and you're exhausted, and you're not ready, and neither am I." 

"I _am..." _

_"_Well_, _I'm not." He sits up. "We have time, Charles. I'm off for at least a week, and tonight, I want to love you, and kiss you, and make you feel good, and I'm _not going anywhere." _

Charles looks at him, dark and deep, but says nothing. "Can I kiss you?" Erik asks. "Can I kiss you, you brilliant man?" 

He nods, and Erik kisses his lips, as slow as he can, and Charles moans in his mouth. "Hush," Erik says, "I'll take care of you," and lets his hands wander downwards. He pulls away Charles' sweater and shirt, properly this time, and kisses his jaw, the curve of his neck, licks his flushed nipples. Charles is hard against him, and he bucks. "Shh," Erik says, slipping off the couch while sliding his hand over Charles' erection. "Take these things off." Charles hastens to obey, and Erik helps him pull everything down, trailing kisses from his navel to his crotch. "Beautiful." And he is - beautiful and strong, stronger than he knows.

Charles won't speak, but his hands are clawing into the cushions, and Erik kisses further down yet, starts to lick his length, slipping his lips over the tip. "More," Charles growls, and Erik takes in as much as he reasonably can, stroking Charles where he can't fit him anymore. 

And finally Charles lies back, and relaxes, and Erik releases he's hardly ever seen him relaxed - except for that night that Charles bled in his arms.

Well. 

That stops here.

And he goes on, even when he feels a bit funny on the floor, though it's good to see Charles' eyes flutter closed. His soft "Erik" makes him fully hard, and he slips down his left hand to touch himself. Bad idea, as Charles notices it when Erik no longer touches him with his dominant hand. He redoubles his efforts, stroking Charles' softly thrusting hips, and when he mumbles: "Erik, I - oh" Erik stops sucking and kisses him again, stroking him to finish as he licks into that soft, sweet mouth. Charles bucks into his hands, keening as he comes and that does it, Erik needs only a couple of quick strokes himself, hand sticky with Charles' cum, to finish, eyes fixed on Charles' blissed out face. 

"Wow," Charles says. "You're amazing." 

"You're spectacular," Erik teases.

"You're out of this world," Charles shoots back.

"You're... _sticky,_" Erik says. "Let's have a wash. I'll carry you."

"OK," Charles says. "OK." 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles finally reveals part of his painful past to Erik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter discusses the abuse of a child and bullying. If this is triggering for you, you may want to skip this chapter.

It was a testament to Erik’s physical perfection and Charles’ blissful post-orgasmic state that he didn’t protest having a shower with Erik. He does object to being carried like a damsel in distress, so after Erik pulls him off the couch, Charles dives in to kiss him and they playfully make their way to the bathroom, stopping for kisses every two feet and knocking into furniture as they go.

When they get to the bathroom and Erik turns around to get the shower ready, Charles can’t help but a take a moment to stop and pinch himself – he and Erik are together. He managed to get through the evening without giving anything away to Erik’s relatives and somehow (really, he had only offered to let Max read to him) made everyone quite pleased.

Stepping into the shower with Erik, a very naked Erik, Charles can’t do much more than try not to stare at him. He’s just so... gorgeous, so perfect. How can it be possible that Charles is here with him?

A touch on his arm brings Charles back to the present, his rushing thoughts and spiking anxiety suddenly calmed by Erik’s presence.

“You okay?” Erik asks, standing so comfortably in all his naked glory under the spray of the shower.

“Yes...I...I’m fine.” Charles manages to get out. “Just, still finding it hard to believe that you’re here. With me.”

Erik smiles and reaches out to skim a washcloth down Charles’ arm, stepping in close and causing Charles to tilt his head up to keep looking into Erik’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Charles swallows past the lump in his throat and gives Erik a tremulous smile.

“I’ll get the soap,” he says, doing his best to act composed and not give away that his insides are fluttering and his heart is full and his head is hazy with emotion.

A breathless growl sounds behind him and Charles’ shoulders sink.

How could he have been so stupid? So thoughtless? He should never have turned around. Years of hiding, years of covering himself, years of intense awareness that he could not show anyone his full self, all gone in an instant. Because for a few minutes, with Erik, he’d simply forgotten.

Charles stands still, shoulders hunched, eyes closed, breathing ringing loudly in his ears. Waiting.

“Charles?” Erik’s voice sounds gruff and pained. “Charles, what happened? Did someone... did someone do this to you?”

“I could hardly do it to myself.” Charles snaps out, jerkily stepping out of the shower.

“Who did it, Charles? Who hurt you?!” Erik demands, stepping out after him.

Ignoring Erik’s question, Charles tugs his shirt and boxers back on, opens the door and steps out into the hallway, gulping in the cool air like a lifeline.

"Charles! You can’t just walk away and ignore me. You can't just disappear again."

“I can and I will.” Charles mutters under his breath as he opens the door to his room.

Unfortunately Erik has the advantage of height and a longer stride, so before Charles can close his door, Erik has slipped his foot in the door frame and pushed his way into the room.

“Go away, Erik.” Charles grumbles, sitting on his bed and drawing his legs up to his body, making himself into a small, compact ball.

“Every time I ask about your past it’s the same thing – you won’t talk to me! Why won’t you talk to me?” Erik asks, his frustration dripping from every word.

“Because it’s mine!” Charles shouts, glaring at Erik from the bed. “It’s my burden. Not yours. I’ll not sully you, or what we have with it.”

When Erik merely stares at him, mouth half open. Charles feels his stomach knot and churn. Somehow he has to make this right, fix this mess he created.

“I’ll keep everything covered. You’ll never have to see the scars again.” Charles whispers, easing himself up and crawling to the edge of the bed closer to Erik. “We can just move forward like they aren’t there. I could help you forget...”

Charles reaches forward to tug at the towel around Erik’s waist, but Erik jerks back as if stung.

“No. No, Charles.” Erik shakes his head. “I can’t... how am I supposed to just ignore that someone hurt you? Your whole back... and the other marks... they look like burns...” Erik huffs out a breath, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. “It’s your decision about what to say and when, but I can’t... I can’t ignore this Charles. I never could! Some time, some day I have to know. I don’t know how to not care. I want... I want to rip whoever did this apart with my bare hands. I -”

“I don’t want you to hurt anyone because of me.” Charles says, staring at his hands, feeling small again, unsure. “It’s not worth it.”

“Of course it’s worth it! You’re worth it!” Erik cries. “Someone hurt you, for _years,_ and they should pay for that!”

“I don’t want anymore people getting hurt because of me.” Charles says, eyes pleading. “Do you understand? All I’ve ever wanted since I left that place was to leave it all behind, to go forward and just... I want people to be happy.”

“Will you ever be able to tell me about it?” Erik says, letting out an audible sigh.

Charles lets his head fall, swamped by a feeling of both acceptance and defeat. What is his really gaining by holding it all in? For so many years he’s kept it to himself. He left the estate, the cold confines of the place, its complete lack of love and acceptance and hoped his life would change.

But for so many years the most important thing, the thing he’d hoped for on so many lonely nights in his room – finding love, acceptance and some sense of family – none of that had happened. Not until he’d come to New York and Erik had come back into his life. Keeping his secrets, burying his past: it was doing nothing but pushing the person who had given him the most happiness he had ever experienced away.

“My step-father and step-brother, they..." He swallows, controlling his emotions, "I often disappointed my step-father. With my conduct.” Charles says softly. “He had very high expectations and I could never live up to them. He compared me to Cain and I was always found wanting.”

“And he beat you? Because you weren’t like his son?”

“Kurt believed in the efficacy of corporal punishment. He was rather disappointed when it had limited results on me.”

“What did he do to you Charles?” Erik asks, stepping forward, a questioning look in his eyes.

Charles moves to the far side of the bed again, back leaning against the wall. Erik tentatively sits down on the bed next to him, close but not touching.

“Generally, he used his... fists. Backhands to the face, punches to the ribs, that sort of thing. When he was particularly displeased he used a belt. It... well, it left its mark.” Charles shrugs. “I wanted to please him and my mother, but there was always something, someway in which I failed. By the time Kurt forced me to stop writing to you, I knew - I could never please them. It was impossible. It was a trap, carefully set to make me fail, over and over. And so, I waited. And I left.”

Charles stares, unseeing, at the far wall of his room, mind wandering back to the day his left the estate. He’d been both exhausted from years of neglect and painfully hopeful at the possibilities ahead of him. He’d been naive and terrified. Through the years some of that had faded away, but underneath that boy remained, as scared and idealistic as ever.

“And the burns?” Erik interrupts Charles’ thoughts, his voice thick with emotion.

“Cain and his cronies. Held me down and snuffed cigarettes out on my arse. Thought it was hilarious.” Charles replies, hearing the bitterness in his own voice.

The evening of the attack, how he’d struggled in vain to get away, the pain of it, the sickening smell of his own flesh burning, all of it brought to back with startling clarity.

“I... I don’t like to think on it.” Charles whispers, a handful of silent tears streaking down his face.

For a moment, no one speaks.

“If that beast of a man was here right now, I would kill him.” Erik growls eventually. “I know you don’t want that, but he deserves no better than that. Both of them deserve no better.”

Charles starts, lifting his head up to meet Erik’s intense gaze when Erik cradles his hand firmly between his own, fingers wrapping around Charles’ palm protectively.

“They're not family, Charles. Those people... that’s not what family is. Family loves you, they nurture you, they support you. You can argue and fight, you can make mistakes, but family is there to catch you when you fall, not... not hurt you.”

“I... I don’t know...I’ve never...” Charles shudders as Erik squeezes his hand and leans his head down until their foreheads are touching. “I want that Erik. I _want_ it.”

“Let me give it to you, then, Charles. Please?” Erik says softly. “Let me show you?”

“Yes. Yes, please, Erik.” Charles whispers back, laying his free hand on top of Erik’s.

“Can I stay with you? Tonight?” Erik asks, his thumbs stroking over Charles’ knuckles. “Just to sleep. Just to be here, with you?”

Charles nods, slowly, since he and Erik are still touching foreheads, mere inches apart. Charles can feel Erik’s breath on his cheek. He can feel the little tremors running through his own body, as he bites his lip to stop more tears from flowing. He can feel Erik’s shuddering sigh and the gentle shift of his body as he moves his head to Charles’ shoulder and inhales deeply.

Somehow, without thinking, Charles lifts his arms and wraps them around Erik. His head drops to Erik’s shoulder and he nuzzles in, eyes closed, hands drifting absently down Erik’s back.

At some point they lie down and fall asleep. Charles can’t possibly say when, he only realizes it's happened when he wakes up in the night, darkness around him, nestled under his covers with his body wrapped around Erik’s, his nose buried at the base of Erik’s neck. For a moment, Charles freezes, overcome with a feeling of intrusion, that he’s somewhere he shouldn’t be.

But as soon as he pulls back, even only slightly, Erik grumbles in his sleep and Charles presses himself back into place immediately. He still feels tense, muscles taunt, and sleep evades him for several minutes. It’s the slow, easy rhythm of Erik’s breathing that calms him.

This is where he belongs. Him and Erik; together. Erik knows it, he’s already peaceful, so accepting of everything that’s unfolding between them. Now it’s Charles turn – to believe, to trust, to take a chance on love.

Charles closes his eyes and tries to find sleep again. He lets himself enjoy Erik’s scent and his warmth. He lets himself imagine being with Erik, living together in this apartment, kissing and laughing and loving. For once, maybe for the first time in his life, Charles falls asleep happy, safe and content.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik receive unexpected news.

Ruth pulls a face. "You're lucky he didn't punch you."

Erik sighs. "Sometimes I honestly wish he would. At least then, I wouldn't have to be so worried all the time."

Ruth steals a fry. "Charles can fight when he wants." Erik pulls up his eyebrows, and she says, "You remember Toad?"

"I'm sure Toad remembers you." He bites his lip. "Ruthie, he never defends himself."

"Sounds like he was trying to defend himself last night."

Erik bristles. "I wasn't attacking him!"

She sips her Coke. "My bad. That, right there wasn't at all aggressive."

Erik huffs. "He can't keep these things from me!"

"Uh, _yeah. _He can. If he wants to." Ruth stands up. "What is it with guys and not taking no for an answer?" 

"This isn't about that!" Ruth raises an eyebrow. "How can I defend him if he won't trust me?" 

"You want him to trust you, Erik?" Ruth says, "Stop trampling all over his boundaries. It's none of your business. Did he say you could tell me?" 

Erik looks to the ground. "You know he doesn't take care of himself." 

"I don't know that, Erik." She starts mixing paint. "Charles is a grown man. You need to let him make his own decisions, not pump former roommates for information behind his back." 

"Mensch, Ruth, that's not what I'm trying to do." He takes a bite off his burger. "It just turns my stomach, all those marks."

"It would," Ruth says softly. "But you shouldn't take that out on him." 

"I've never been so..." he searches for the right word, fails, and shrugs. "Charles cuts through things, you know? He gets to the heart of the matter. Makes you tell him things you hardly knew yourself."

Ruth smiles. "I know. I told him all about Sam the first night I even met him."

"Yeah, but he... he... he doesn't, himself." Erik swallows. "He's disappeared on me before, Ruthie. I don't want to feel that again." 

"No one wants that," she says, rather brusquely. "But you can't make this about you. Just love him, man. Love him." She drains the rest of her Coke. "Now take your burger and shoo. We can't all laze about for the rest of the month." 

Erik grins. "Isn't that why you went into this line of work? To laze about and wait for 'inspiration'?" 

She points a brush at him. "Get your bourgeois ass out of my studio or so help me..." 

He blows her a kiss. "See you soon, sweetheart." 

She laughs. "I'm charging next time." 

Erik's still smiling on the subway. 'Just love him'. Maybe that is all he needs to do. He can do that. Man, he wants to do that. Two weeks where every night, Charles is his. Two whole weekends. It's an enticing idea. He nearly made Charles late this morning, what with their do-over in the shower, soaping each other up and rubbing their cocks - well he shouldn't think about it here. He'd made sure that Charles ate well, too, so he'd be ready for this night's, um, program. Erik will make a kosher lasagna for tonight, pamper Charles first. G-d knows he could do with it. 

Life's good. One final negotiation at the job tomorrow, and he'll sign. Papa will be proud. Mama's never not. He's saved up enough, and with this first paycheck, he can get them here for the bar mitswa. He's missed them, and he knows Rosa has, too. Letters are not the same.

And Charles. He wants to present him. "Guck, Mama, das ist er." Look Mama, that's him. My Charles, my friend. Remember that card, Papa? He read it. Still has it. Please love him. Please do. 

He's not sure how it works, eventually, him and Charles. How long they can flatshare before it looks odd. Suspicious. He doesn't care much, but Charles does, he knows. Still, he doesn't want to worry. Not on their little honeymoon.

He browses a bookshop before getting groceries, finally buys Charles "The Royal Game" (he prefers the German title, "Chess Novella", but they must have had their reasons for the change). He gets the ingredients for the lasagna, buys some ready made cheesecake and some actual beer, none of that Budweiser stuff, and even some good bread. They'll eat leftovers tomorrow, sparing Charles the indignity of burning another dish as well as saving money, so he's not too sorry. He'd love a French press, but there's still that tv to buy, and Charles doesn't drink coffee anyway. 

At home, he turns up the volume on the radio and sings with the Ronettes: _Be my, be_ _my_,_ be my little baby, say you'll be my darling, be my baby now..._

He cleans, prepares the food, lays out fresh towels, cleans the sheets on Charles' bed. They don't really need it as a bedroom, he muses. Maybe they can make it into a workspace, if he puts the mattress up against the wall. Yeah, he's seen that. Maybe they can have it built. He surveys the room and then happily gets his sketchbook out. The layout of this place is inefficient, there's many more things he needs to tweak.

At 5.30, he pours drinks. He can put the lasagna in the oven when Charles arrives, it only needs 30 minutes. He feels like a little housewife, and it makes him grin. Next he'll be baking challah!

He's gone back to sketching when the door opens. "Hi -"

Charles drops his bag and runs into his arms, throwing them both back on the couch. "Kiss me, please," he says, before pushing their lips together.

Erik is happy to oblige, but Charles is shaking. Erik pulls him close. "No rush," he pants, as Charles kisses his neck. "We've got -"

"Kiss me," Charles repeats, harsher this time, and so they do, Charles pushing him down, climbing overtop, but Erik feels wetness on his face. He pulls Charles sideways, cradled close. "Hey Süßer, what is it?" he whispers as he strokes Charles' back.

"I want one good day," Charles says, face buried against Erik's chest, "why can't I have the one good day?" 

"Hey, Schatz, whatever it is, it's over," he says, cradling his love. "I made us dinner, got us drinks. Just put your feet up, it's OK..." 

But Charles is sobbing. "Sorry," he gasps. "Erik, you're so sweet..." 

Erik puts his arms around Charles. "Tell me, sweetheart," he mumbles in his ear. 

Charles reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.

Erik looks at the Western Union logo. "A telegram?" 

Charles nods. "Read it."

_MOTHER ILL_

_COME HOME AT ONCE _

_PROF. K. MARKO_

Erik sits up. "Oh. O man." He hugs Charles close. "Did you call?" 

Charles snorts. "No use. Marko doesn't want me questioning his instructions." 

"But..."

Charles shakes his head. "He said what he said. He'll expect me to fly tonight."

Erik stiffens. "You're not." He waits. "Are you?"

"I don't know!" Charles says. It sounds agonised. "I don't know." 

"Ok, you're having a drink," Erik says. "I'll fix dinner." 

"OK," Charles says, and he hugs him again. Erik kisses his cheek and then brings him a beer. "When did you hear?"

"Ten o'clock or so," Charles says, teeth chattering against the glass. 

"Then why couldn't _he_ call?" 

Charles looks up. "This was cheaper?" 

Erik sighs. "I don't like this."

"Please, I'm hungry," Charles says. "I'll put my stuff away and we'll eat and then - "

Erik kisses him, holds him until his breathing slows down. "Have your shower," he says softly. "Put on some pyjamas." 

Charles shakes his head. "I may have to fly." 

"Then at least change," Erik said. "Take a shower, take a breath - " 

"No." Charles looks at him. "I don't want to think. About Mum, Marko, any of it. That always comes between us." 

"Charles - " 

"No!" He lifts his chin. "Take the fucking gloves off, Erik. Stop treating me like something fragile. No one ever did." 

Erik grabs his hand. "All the more reason to -" 

Charles takes a breath. "No, Erik! No! Don't you see? I have to go back there, and I'll never have had you, not really, because of them. Because of Marko, and Cain, and I can't bear that. I really can't."

Erik squeezes harder. "You don't have to go." 

"Of course I do," Charles says. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't." 

Erik closes his eyes. "What if it's a trap?" 

Charles gasps, pained. "What if it's not?" 

Erik thinks of his own mother and winces. "Charles..." 

Charles touches his face. "You, me, now, that's what I'm sure of. That's what I know. Please." He leans closer. "I need you. I need you to fuck me so hard I forget my own name." 

What makes him say it, he doesn't know, but Erik brings out: "Don't you, you know, want to... want _me _to_..._ I mean, you could, as well -" 

Charles' eyes go soft. "Thank you," he says. "But not tonight." He kisses Erik's neck. "I need you on me. _In_ me." He smiles. "So I can take you everywhere." 

That's too much. Erik lunges forward, a low sound in his throat, and curls a hand in Charles' hair before he kisses him, other hand under Charles' shirt. "Bedroom, c'mon," he whispers when his lips are numb.

"Whose?" Charles moans. "Yours?"

"Mine - _ours," _Erik says. "I wanna take you apart." 

Charles' smile is radiant. "I've got to do some prep," he says. "Ten minutes, tops. Don't go anywhere." 

"You don't go anywhere," Erik hisses. "If you're not there in ten minutes, naked, I might do things I shouldn't." 

Charles winks. "How romantic." They kiss again before Charles untangles himself. "Turn down the bed, would you, Liebling?"

That word shouldn't be sexy, not on Charles' lips, but it is. "Go," he says, slaps his ass, and Charles laughs.

Erik drinks his beer, and then another. Fuck, he only half knows how this works. He has not even been with a girl, not fully. Knocking up some shikse wouldn't have gone over well. 

Right. The bed. What is Charles doing? What 'prep'? He's heard things, on drunken nights in bars, but it never was appealing. But anything with Charles sounds appealing. Very appealing. 

He rips the covers loose, fluffs up the pillows. Towels, perhaps? He feels like a schoolboy. He takes off his shirt, frees his straining cock, rubs his nipples. He's dying, alright. Dying for Charles.

But when Charles comes in, he's struck dumb. He looks like an angel. An actual angel. With flush, deep pink lips, and those eyes... His cock is hard and full, and Erik wants to touch it, but he doesn't get the chance as Charles crawls unto the bed. For one moment, he looks innocent and fragile. "I've put the lube in the drawer," he says, looking at the nightstand at Erik's right.

Erik goes for it, still a bit bashful. Charles blushes too. "You look like a Greek soldier," he says. "You've taken classics, right? They used to do this. I've seen pictures." 

"Not in my textbooks," Erik breathes, though he does remember reading about Ganymede. ('Cup bearer', his ass.)

"I've read other books, too," Charles says. "It's fine, as long as we both relax, and use this. The Greeks used olive oil."

"Lie down, then," Erik says, "my soldier." He pushes Charles down, kisses the nape of his neck. Charles wriggles his ass. "Erik..." 

The marks, however faded, stab Erik in the gut to look at them. But then he kisses them, each and every scar, before moving to the soft skin between butt and thigh. Charles clenches. "Sh," Erik says, and spreads his ass. "What have we here?" 

"Open me up," Charles says, breathless. Erik dives between the flushed buttocks and licks.

Charles nearly bucks. "That's - oh," he says. "That's filthy -!"

"It's delicious," Erik says. "You're delicious." He spits and rubs it around Charles' rim. "Not enough," Charles protests. "Use lube..." 

"Later," Erik whispers. "You need to relax." He licks, swipes his again, and Charles is keening. "Oooh," he moans, rubbing against the sheets. "O, lord, o fuck!" 

Erik smiles to himself. Charles is so responsive. He keeps licking, teasing him with his tongue, until he probes in a finger. Charles gives a tiny clench, but immediately loosens when Erik thrusts his tongue in again. "Please Erik, I can't," he gasps. 

Erik reaches for the lube, coats his fingers in it, thrusts two in. "Good?"

Charles is thrashing. "Curl them," he says, and when he does: "There! Yes! Erik!" 

Erik is so hard it's painful, and he never claimed to be a saint. He pulls his hand back, coats his dick in lube, then his hand, then Charles' rim, again. He rubs the opening once more with his thumb before he lines his dick up and pushes in.

Holy fuck.

He has to be slow, so slow, inching himself in, but the liquid heat that shoots up his spine is out of this world. Charles' heat is all around him, fluttering, damn near pulling. For a moment he just sits there, deep in Charles' hole, holding him still, making him _feel_ it: the promise of surrender, of no fucking way back.

Charles' back is tense, and Erik leans forward. "You ok?"

Charles' breathing is laboured. "Do it," he gasps. "Do it, don't make me wait." His hole clenches again, and Erik grins. "As you wish."

He starts rocking softly, pushing his way ever deeper inside him. Charles whines, turns his head sideways and their mouths meet in a kiss, Erik's hand on Charles' head. "Ah," Charles cries when Erik pushes him back forward, probing deeper. Charles lies under him, flat on his belly, hips rutting against the mattress, for several deep strokes. Erik pulls back slightly and hooks both his legs under Charles', spreading him open further. "Push back," he pants. "Fuck me, Charles." 

He _does, _and Erik slips his hand under his belly, pulling him up on his knees, their hips flush against each other.

It's just fucking now, no pretext all. Erik's hand finds Charles' cock, and he's so slick, thrusting into his palm. Erik buries his face in Charles's neck. "You're so hot, you should see yourself," and Charles clenches harder at that. Erik lets himself fall forwards in response, grinds Charles into mattress, hand buried in his hair. Charles pushes his hips back once more, and Erik sits up and pulls Charles to his knees again. It's bliss, fucking into him, hands on both Charles' buttocks, staring into Charles' blue eyes when he turns to look at Erik. His eyes are dark, his bottom lip's between his teeth, his right hand's on his cock and it's the sexiest thing Erik ever seen, _will_ ever see. Erik leans forward to kiss him once more before he grabs Charles' hips and spills; he's still fucking through it when Charles bucks, makes a high pitched sound, and shudders out his own release.

Erik pulls him to his chest. "What's your name, love?", he says, face close to his ear.

Charles frowns. "Huh?" 

Erik laughs. "Mission accomplished." 

Charles drops forward, pulling Erik with him. "Jesus, you're... that was..."

"Amazing?" Erik says. "Earth shattering?"

"Hard," Charles says. 

"_Gott, _sorry," he says, pulling out. "Are you hurt?!"

"Nicely sore," Charles says, licking his lips. "Thank you, darling." 

"You aint seen nothing yet," Erik grins. "This weekend -" 

Charles' face darkens. He turns away. "I need to pack." 

Erik sees the markings on his back and he can't help himself. He drapes himself, bodily, over Charles' back. "Don't go," he says. "Please don't. Till you know more. Call him first. _I'll_ call." 

"I need a shower," Charles says.

"Yeah," Erik says. "I'll make that dinner. You can stay for that, can't you?"

Charles hesitates. "I guess." He shrugs Erik off, and Erik lets himself fall back. 

"Please don't go," he whispers. "Not tonight. Sleep on it. Please." 

Charles shakes his head. "Can't risk it." 

"Charles, it's a trap!" He can't help himself, he's shouting. "You're slipping the bit, don't you understand? He's lying, that man, he just wants you where he can hurt you. Don't let him. Stay here." He pulls Charles tight with everything he has. "Don't leave me. Schatz, please."

Charles looks at him, pupils blown wide. He doesn't say a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mensch - (here) gurl!  
Shikse - non Jewish girl. In German, the word Schickse, which is pronounced exactly the same, also means bitch/hussy/nag or even chav, so I'll leave it up to you how generous Erik is being.  
Süßer - sweet one, cutie  
Schatz - darling  
Gott - God


	17. Chapter 17

Charles stands in the shower, water running over his head. He knows he has to get out, he has to turn off the water, dry himself off and face reality. But his feet feel rooted on the spot and he stays frozen in the same position he’s been in for the past fifteen minutes.

Should he go? Should he do as Kurt has demanded and get on a plane back to England?

How can he stay if his mother might be ill? What if this is his last chance to see her? What if this is the one time she will look at him and show him love?

But then, what if Erik was right? What if he went to England and was caught in a carefully set trap of Kurt’s making? What if he left and could never come back, never escape the estate, never see Erik again?

Charles falls to his knees in the tub, his body shaking. He can’t lose Erik. Not now, not after he’s finally found him again and more than that, found love.

He takes time to control his breathing. He turns the water off and sits in the tub until he stops shaking, staring at the wall without seeing, waiting for a sense of calm to settle over him.

It takes time, so much time that he is shivering with cold by the time he feels it, but once he does everything is easy. He gets out of the tub, gets dressed, and walks out into the dining room with a sense of certainty and purpose. He knows. He knows what to do next.

* * *

“Erik?” Charles calls out, surprised to find the living area empty.

The table is set, music is playing and Charles can smell something delicious. Clearly Erik had been busy while he was in the shower.

Charles turns and heads to Erik’s room. It’s really the only place he can be.

“Erik?” Charles calls again, knocking on Erik’s door and peeking his head into the room.

Erik is sitting on the bed, the bed where they just made love, holding a piece of paper in his hand. Charles approaches and sits down beside him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

“I thought we were having dinner.” Charles says softly.

“We are.” Erik frowns. “I just needed to look at this.”

“The telegram?” Charles asks.

“Your letter.”

“You kept one of the letters I wrote?”

“I kept all your letters.”

Charles looks over at Erik, stunned. “_All_ of them?”

“I have them in a binder.” Erik frowns down at the letter in his hand. “This is the last letter you wrote me. It has blood on it, Charles. Blood. That’s when I knew – I knew someone was hurting you and that all those months you’d been hiding it from me.”

“What could you have done?” Charles argues. “We were so close in our hearts, but so far away in distance. How could I tell you? If you’d known there was nothing you could have done and even then I knew you well enough to know you’d want to do something.” Charles sighs. “And besides, I was a fifteen year old boy in love with his pen pal and I hardly wanted to admit my step brother beat me to a pulp for fun. I was rather hoping you would fall in love with me too and appearing like the scared little boy I was didn’t seem like the way to win your affection.”

Erik looks up at Charles then, a funny little smile on his face. “You loved me then?”

“I’ve always loved you, Erik.”

“I don’t want you to go there and get hurt again. I don’t want to get another letter like this, Charles. I can’t... I can’t even think about what it would be like to get another one of these in the mail.”

Charles reaches out and slips his hand into Erik’s.

“I’m not leaving.”

Erik jerks into motion, tackling him to the bed and kissing his face over and over.

“Erik...” Charles finds himself both laughing and pushing Erik back. “Erik, please stop and listen.”

Erik pulls back and looks over at him. Charles feels his heart lurch at the look in his eyes; so hopeful and apprehensive all at once.

“I won’t leave tonight. I don’t want to do this alone. You’re right – this could all be a trap. Kurt has been fighting me over my inheritance for years; he certainly could be trying to manipulate me. But I have to be sure my mother isn’t ill. I simply cannot stay here if she is.”

Erik nods, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Will you help me?” Charles asks, his heart in his throat.

“Yes. I’ll do anything. Anything.” Erik replies fervently.

“Tomorrow, in the morning, we’ll call. Together. Hopefully I can speak to my mother, or one of the servants. And then... and then we will hopefully know the truth.”

Erik grabs him and pulls until Charles is sprawled on top of him. Charles straddles Erik’s hips and cradles his head in his hands.

“I love you.” He whispers kissing Erik’s jaw line, making his way slowing up to Erik’s ear. “I seem to recall the promise of food...”

“You’re insatiable.” Erik shifts, nipping at Charles’ bottom lip and then licking his way into his mouth, making Charles moan. “Are you sure you don’t love me just for the food?”

Charles lets his eyes drift down Erik’s body and linger on his crotch. He peers up at Erik, licking his lips, planning to use what he hopes is his sexiest voice to proposition Erik and finally get his mouth on Erik’s gorgeous cock, when his stomach growls loudly. 

Immediately Erik is sitting up and scowling down at Charles’ middle.

“When was the last time you ate?” 

Charles hesitates, knowing Erik will not be pleased with his answer. “I may have forgotten to eat lunch.”

Erik stands swiftly and pulls him off the bed, leading him down the hall with purpose.

“Supper for you, right now.” Erik directs, heading into the kitchen as Charles sits at the table.

Erik fusses over him as he eats, spending more time eyeing Charles across the table than he does eating himself. Finally Charles sighs, belly full, and fixes his attention on Erik.

“I meant what I said earlier, Erik. You don’t need to handle me with kid gloves. I know how I look, what people think of me, but I am not incapable of taking care of myself. I am not weak.”

“I don’t think you’re weak. I never have.” Erik insists. “I want to take care of you... you deserve to have someone who takes care of you.”

“I want us to take care of each other, Erik. I love that you cook for us, that you want to make me feel safe, but I want you to trust that I could do the same for you and that I can keep _myself_ safe. We will make that phone call together in the morning, but the harsh truth is I may well be going to England, alone. I need to you believe that I will come back, for us, for you, for me. I can do this, Erik.”

Charles can feel the tears glistening in his eyes, but he holds himself firm and doesn’t let them fall. He just watches Erik through the blur and hopes he’s made himself clear, hopes that Erik understands what he is trying to say. Only a few short months ago, Charles wouldn’t have been confident he could be summoned back to England and have the fortitude to return to New York. But he has the strength now, though that strength would feel so much more potent if Erik believed in it too.

Erik walks over to him, holding out his hand. Charles grasps Erik’s long fingers in his palm, squeezing and waiting for Erik’s response.

“I never meant to make you feel I didn’t believe in you. I do, Charles, I do.” Erik says.

“Good.” Charles shuts his eyes and leans against Erik, his fatigue suddenly swamping him and making his body sag. “That’s good.”

Erik rubs his hands up and down Charles’ arms: “You’re exhausted. Let’s go to bed.”

Charles wishes he could say he makes a graceful exit, but he knows he doesn't. His legs wobble and he leans on Erik as they walk, before finally collapsing on the bed.

“This is your bed.” Charles mutters with a frown, struggling to get up again. “I should go -”

“Lie down.” Erik gently pushes his shoulders back down and Charles can’t help but stare at into eyes – tonight they look green. “Just lie down and sleep. I’ll go clean up and come right back.”

Charles reaches up and pulls Erik down for a kiss, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

“You’ll come back to me?” He asks, breathless and wanting, wishing he had the energy to keep Erik here and kiss every inch of him.

“I promise.” Erik smirks lightly. “I was kind of hoping to sleep with you every night.”

“I like the sound of that.” Charles smiles fondly, watching Erik leave the room.

He has plans to wait up for Erik; fleeting thoughts of taking off his clothes and surprising Erik when he returns, but he is pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep almost as soon as Erik shuts the door.

* * *

Charles stares down at the phone, his step father’s voice still ringing in his ears.

He’s done it. He’s called the estate and talked to Kurt. He insisted on talking to his mother before traveling home, which, of course, Kurt refused to allow. So, Charles had put his foot down and said, in no uncertain terms, that he was not leaving New York, or his studies. Kurt had been aggravated prior to that, but Charles’ clear disobedience had sent him over the edge. The following tirade had been epically long and full of vulgarity and insults, most of which Charles had heard time and time again.

Charles stood and listened as he always did, until Erik had taken the phone from his hand and hung it up with a crash.

Charles is still frozen, unable to believe he’s actually stood up to his tormentor. Erik, meanwhile, is pacing restlessly and it's his movements that finally jerk Charles back into reality.

At first, Charles merely peeks over at him, watching Erik stride the length of the room, body full of tension, fists clenched, jaw tight. It puzzles him – he thought Erik would be pleased. Charles feels almost giddy, but is so stunned with himself he can still barely move.

“I did it, Erik.” He finally says, voice more breathless than he’d like, but still the words are clear and Charles can’t keep the smile off his face. “I did it!”

Erik stops his pacing and stares at Charles. All Charles can see on his face is a scowl.

“You’re not happy?” He asks, confused.

“I’m happy that man is an ocean away from you!” Erik snarls. “What he said, what he _said_ Charles – how could you stand it?! I wanted to reach through the phone and rip his tongue out of his mouth!” Erik steps forward, stopping in front of Charles, gripping Charles’ arms, as if he’s making sure Charles is really there. “How could he say those things about you? Its like he’s never met you. He... he...”

“Oh love,” Charles reaches up and cups Erik’s face in his hands. “Kurt has never cared to know anything about me, except for all the ways he finds me lacking. The things he said today he's said a million times before – it was all old hat. But I said no. I’m still here.”

Charles reaches up, on his tip toes, and kisses Erik gently on the mouth.

“I know you’re upset,” Charles whispers, snuggling himself in close to Erik’s body and sinking his hands into Erik’s hair. “But I was rather hoping to celebrate...” he says, biting his lip and peering up at Erik.

“What did you have in mind?” Erik asks, bringing his head down to nuzzle at Charles’ ear.

“I was thinking we could play chess.” 

“Chess? How can you concentrate on that right now? Maybe we should do something else?” Erik laughs, biting Charles’ ear lightly.

“I was thinking of a rather... special kind of chess.”

“Special?”

“Hmm.” Charles says, reaching up again to whisper into Erik’s ear. “The kind where every time a person loses a piece off the board, they also lose a piece of clothing...”

For a moment, Erik freezes and Charles gets that horrible sinking feeling he’s all too familiar with, the one he gets when he’s sure he’s made a horrible mis-step. Then Erik practically purrs and shifts quickly to give Charles a short but thorough kiss.

“I’ll get the chess board.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets an unwelcome surprise.

He won't say anything.

Charles is so relieved he's giddy with it. He is singing in the shower. He wants to go out dancing. They've celebrated Erik's official accepting of the position - for $25 extra a month - with such a spectacular round of lovemaking that Erik still blushes when he thinks about it. Charles bought the tv early, though Erik insists on paying him back. They've found a sportsbar that shows the European cup and serves terrible English beer, and Charles befriended half the bar already. 

But this isn't _over._

True, he doesn't know this Marko man, nor has he ever been forced to get used to that kind of abuse - but he knows crazy. It's impossible not to, having grown up among people who'd have sent his whole family to Auschwitz if Papa hadn't accepted that position in Switzerland. Listening to Charles' phone call, he felt the same shiver of anger and dread that had plagued him every time he'd come face to face with the likes of Herr Wagner, Kurt Wagner's Dad, a Nazi if he ever saw one. "Jewish pig," the man would hiss at him when he felt himself unobserved, until Erik had hit him square in the face one day. Papa had needed to get involved, and informed Herr Wagner that even though people weren't digging through his past just yet, that didn't mean they couldn't start. Honestly, moving his family from Munich, of all places, to Düsseldorf, for no discernible reason? Hadn't his eldest son been educated at one of those elite Nazi boarding schools?

That had been the end of that, but when Kurt Wagner had run away to a seminary two years later, Wagner sr. had pulled the exact same trick Marko had: come home, your mother is ill. When Kurt Wagner returned he got beaten half to death for his trouble. The last time Erik saw him, Kurt was limping along the seminary garden, spouting nonsense about forgiveness and turning the other cheek. Erik still remembers what was going through his head: _I should have killed that monster when I had the fucking chance._

So when he finds a guy with the exact same kind of asshole beard and even meaner, sharper eyes at the door of his New York apartment, he's ready. He has been ready all his life.

"Where's Charles?" the man spits before Erik's even started climbing the last staircase.

Ah, now. This hasn't been good day. Erik has _quite_ a bit to prove at his new job, as some colleagues are rather happy to point out. He's not going to give them ammunition by blowing up at them, of course not...

But he's not at the office, now, is he? 

"Charles who?"

The man's dressed to the nines, in an English way- all tweedy threepiece - and at home, Erik would have been impressed by it. It seemed worldly. But here in New York, it seems, if anything, stodgy. Out of place.

Good.

The man tilts his head. "Don't lie to me. He lives here. Professor Stryker gave me the address."

"Don't know any Stryker." He's reached the top of the stairs. "Please get away from the door."

"Charles said he lived with a girl."

Erik looks at him. "Proof that you've got the wrong house."

The man raises his eyebrows. "Do I?" He holds out a bank statement addressed to Charles. 

Fuck.

Erik smiles tightly. "That isn't yours." 

The man's eyes twinkle as he looks him up and down. "What else has he been lying about, the little poof?" 

Erik twists. "Du Arschl-!"

"Aha!" Marko - who else could he be - meets his eyes. "You're that boy!"

Erik frowns. "Get the fuck away from here!"

The man grabs his arm. He smells like drink. "His penpal. The little lost love! How long has this been going on? Since Oxford, huh?" He leans in closer. "Did you clean out his room? They wouldn't have had you for anything else…"

Erik pulls back his arm and hits Marko's nose with a very satisfying crack. He goes down immediately - types like him do every time - and before he has time to collect himself, Erik steps down on his crotch. "Get away from my house," he whispers. "Get out of my life. If you don't. If I ever have to see you again. I'll come for you. And your asshole son. Put a cigarette out on him." 

The fucker finds it in him to smile. "So it's true," he says. "You've seen Charles naked."

Erik drags him up. "You think I'm lying?" He turns the man around. "I'll throw you off these stairs, face down -"

They hear footsteps. "Erik?" Charles calls. "What's going on?" 

The man pulls himself loose as Charles rushes up the stairs. And stops. 

For one endless moment, Charles stares at them both. Then he meets Erik's eyes.

He seems… disappointed. 

Then he straightens his back and lifts his chin. "Stepfather," he says. "My apologies for the delay. I was held up after class." He mounts the rest of the stairs and nudges Erik aside. "Do come in. Erik, would you put the kettle on?"


End file.
